Clare Avery: A Story of the Spanish Armada

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  THE WRECK OF THE "DOLORIDA."

  "And therefore unto this poor child of Eve The thing forbidden was the one thing wanting, Without which all the rest were dust and ashes."

  "Heardst ever the like of the gale this night, Barbara?" asked Blanche,as she stood twisting up her hair before the mirror, one morning towardsthe close of August.

  "'Twas a cruel rough night, in sooth," was the answer. "Yet the wind iswesterly. God help the poor souls that were on the sea this night!They must have lacked the same."

  "'Twas ill for the Spaniard, I reckon," said Blanche lightly.

  "'Twas ill for life, Mistress Blanche," returned Barbara, gravely."There be English on the wild waters, beside Spaniards. The Lord avertevil from them!"

  "Nay, I go not about to pray that ill be avoided from those companions,"retorted Blanche in scorn. "They may drown, every man of them, foraught I care."

  "They be some woman's childre, every man," was Barbara's reply.

  "O Blanche!" interposed Clare, reproachfully. "Do but think of theirchildre at home: and the poor mothers that are watching in the villagesof Spain for their lads to come back to them! How canst thou wish themhurt?"

  "How touching a picture!" said Blanche in the same tone.

  "In very deed, I would not by my good-will do them none ill," respondedBarbara; "I would but pray and endeavour myself that they should do noneill to me."

  "How should they do thee ill, an' they were drowned?" laughed Blanche.

  The girl was not speaking her real sentiments. She was neither cruelnor flinty-hearted, but was arguing and opposing, as she often did,sheerly from a spirit of contradiction, and a desire to astonish herlittle world; Blanche's vanity was of the Erostratus character. Whileshe longed to be liked and admired, she would have preferred that peopleshould think her disagreeable, rather than not think of her at all.

  "But, Blanche," deprecated Clare, who did not enter into thispeculiarity of her sister, "do but fancy, if one of these very men didseek thy gate, all wet and weary and hungered, and it might be maimed inthe storm, without so much as one penny in his pocket for to buy himfire and meat--thou wouldst not shut the door in his face?"

  "Nay, truly, for I would take a stout cudgel and drive him thence."

  "O Blanche!"

  "O Clare!" said Blanche mockingly.

  "I could never do no such a thing," added Clare, in a low tone.

  "What, thou wouldst lodge and feed him?"

  "Most surely."

  "Then shouldst thou harbour the Queen's enemy."

  "I should harbour mine own enemy," said Clare. "And thou wist who badeus, `If thine enemy hunger, feed him.'"

  "Our Lord said that to His disciples."

  "And are not we His disciples?"

  "Gramercy, maiden! Peter, and John, and Andrew, and the like. 'Twasnever meant for folk in these days?"

  "Marry La'kin! What say you, Mistress Blanche?--that God's Word was notmeant for folk now o' days?"

  "Oh ay,--some portion thereof."

  "Well-a-day! what will this world come to? I was used to hear say, inQueen Mary's days, that the great Council to London were busy undoingwhat had been done in King Harry's and King Edward's time: but I ne'erheard that the Lord had ta'en His Word in pieces, and laid up an handfulthereof as done withal."

  "Barbara, thou hast the strangest sayings!"

  "I cry you mercy, Mistress mine,--'tis you that speak strangely."

  "Come hither, and help me set this edge of pearl. Prithee, let suchgear a-be. We be no doctors of the schools, thou nor I."

  "We have souls to be saved, Mistress Blanche."

  "Very well: and we have heads to be dressed likewise. Tell me if thiscap sit well behind; I am but ill pleased withal."

  Heavy rapid steps came down the corridor, and with a hasty knock, Jennetput her head in at the door.

  "Mrs Blanche! Mrs Clare! If you 'll none miss th' biggest sight everyou saw, make haste and busk [dress] you, and come down to hall.There's th' biggest ship ever were i' these parts drove ashore o' PennyBank. Th' Master, and Dick, and Sim, and Abel 's all gone down to th'shore, long sin'."

  "What manner of ship, Jennet?" asked both the girls at once.

  "I'm none fur learnt i' ships," said Jennet, shaking her head. "Simsaid 'twere a Spaniard, and Dick said 'twere an Englishman; and Abelbade 'em both hold their peace for a pair o' gaumless [stupid] noodles."

  "But what saith my father?" cried excited Blanche, who had forgotten allabout the fit of her cap.

  "Eh, bless you!--he's no noodle: Why, he said he'd see 't afore he toldanybody what 't were."

  "Barbara, be quick, dear heart, an' thou lovest me. Let the cap be;only set my ruff.--Jennet! can we see it hence?"

  "You'll see 't off th' end o' th' terrace, right plain afore ye," saidJennet, and summarily departed.

  There was no loitering after that. In a very few minutes the two girlswere dressed, Blanche's ruff being satisfactory in a shorter time thanBarbara could ever remember it before. Clare stayed for her prayers,but Blanche dashed off without them, and made her way to the end of theterrace, where her sister presently joined her.

  "She is a Spaniard!" cried Blanche, in high excitement. "Do but look onher build, Clare. She is not English-built, as sure as this is Veniceribbon."

  Clare disclaimed, with a clear conscience, all acquaintance withshipbuilding, and declined even to hazard a guess as to the nationalityof the ill-fated vessel. But Blanche was one of those who must be (orseem to be; either will do) conversant with every subject underdiscussion. So she chattered on, making as many blunders as assertions,until at last, just at the close of a particularly absurd mistake, sheheard a loud laugh behind her.

  "Well done, Blanche!" said her father's voice. "I will get thee a ship,my lass. Thou art as fit to be a sea-captain, and come through a stormin the Bay of Biscay, as--thy popinjay." [Parrot.]

  "O Father, be there men aboard yonder ship?" said Clare, earnestly.

  "Ay, my lass," he replied, more gravely. "An hundred and seventysouls--there were, last night, Clare."

  "And what?"--Clare's face finished the question.

  "There be nine come ashore," he added in the same tone.

  "And the rest, Father?" asked Clare piteously.

  "Drowned, my lass, every soul, in last night's storm."

  "O Father, Father!" cried Clare's tender heart.

  "Good lack!" said Blanche. "Is she English, Father?"

  "The Dolorida, of Cales, [Cadiz] my maid."

  "Spanish!" exclaimed Blanche, her excitement returning. "And what bethese nine men, Father?"

  "There be two of them poor galley-slaves; two sailors; and foursoldiers, of the common sort. No officers; but one young gentleman, ofa good house in Spain, that was come abroad for his diversion, and tosee the sight."

  "Who is this gentleman, Father?--What manner of man is he?"

  Sir Thomas was a little amused by the eagerness of his daughter'squestions.

  "His name is Don John de Las Rojas, [a fictitious person] MistressBlanche,--of a great house and ancient, as he saith, in Andalusia: andas to what manner of man,--why, he hath two ears, and two eyes, and onenose, and I wis not how many teeth--"

  "Now prithee, Father, mock me not! Where is her--"

  "What shouldest say, were I to answer, In a chamber of Enville Court?"

  "Here, Father?--verily, here? Shall I see him?"

  "That hangeth on whether thine eyes be shut or open. Thou must tarrytill he is at ease."

  "At ease!--what aileth him?"

  Sir Thomas laughed. "Dost think coming through a storm at sea as smallmatter as coming through a gate on land? He hath 'scaped rarely well;there is little ails him save a broken arm, and a dozen or so of hardbruises; but I reckon a day or twain will pass ere it shall be to hisconveniency to appear in thy royal presence, my Lady Blanche."

  "But what chamber hath he?--and who is with him?--Do tell me allth
ereabout."

  "Verily, curiosity is great part of Eve's legacy to her daughters.Well, an' thou must needs know, he is in the blue chamber; and thineaunt and Jennet be with him; and I have sent Abel to Bispham after theleech. [Doctor.] What more, an't like the Lady Blanche?"

  "Oh, what like is he?--and how old?--and is he well-favoured?--and--"

  "Nay, let me have them by threes at the most. He is like a young manwith black hair and a right wan face.--How old? Well, I would guess,an' he were English, something over twenty years; but being Spanish,belike he is younger than so.--Well-favoured? That a man should lookwell-favoured, my Lady Blanche, but now come off a shipwreck, and hisarm brake, and after fasting some forty hours,--methinks he should be arare goodly one. Maybe a week's dieting and good rest shall better hisbeauty."

  "Hath he any English?"

  "But a little, and that somewhat droll: yet enough to make one conceivehis wants. His father and mother both, he told me, were of the Courtwhen King Philip dwelt here, and they have learned him some English forthis his journey."

  "Doth his father live?"

  "Woe worth the day! I asked him not. I knew not your Grace shoulddesire to wit it."

  "And his mother? Hath he sisters?"

  "Good lack! ask at him when thou seest him. Alack, poor lad!--his workis cut out, I see."

  "But you have not told me what shall come of them."

  "I told thee not! I have been answering thy questions thicker than anyblackberries. My tongue fair acheth; I spake not so much this weekpast."

  "How do you mock me, Father!"

  "I will be sad as a dumpling, my lass. I reckon, Mistress, all theyshall be sent up to London unto the Council, without there come commandthat the justices shall deal with them."

  "And what shall be done to them?"

  "Marry, an' I had my way, they should be well whipped all round, andpacked off to Spain. Only the galley-slaves, poor lads!--they could nothelp themselves."

  "Here 's the leech come, Master," said Jennet, behind them.

  Sir Thomas hastened back into the house, and the two sisters followedmore slowly.

  "Oh, behold Aunt Rachel!" said Blanche. "She will tell us somewhat."

  Now, only on the previous evening, Rachel had been asserting, in herstrongest and sternest manner, that nothing,--no, nothing on earth!--should ever make her harbour a Spaniard. They were one and all "evilcompanions;" they were wicked Papists; they were perturbators of thepeace of our Sovereign Lady the Queen; hanging was a luxury beyond theirdeserts. It might therefore have been reasonably expected that Rachel,when called upon to serve one of these very obnoxious persons, wouldscornfully refuse assistance, and retire to her own chamber in thecapacity of an outraged Briton. But Rachel, when she spoke in this way,spoke in the abstract, with a want of realisation. When theobjectionable specimen of the obnoxious mass lifted a pair of sufferinghuman eyes to her face, the ice thawed in a surprisingly sudden mannerfrom the surface of her flinty heart, and the set lips relaxed into anastonishingly pitying expression.

  Blanche, outwardly decorous, but with her eyes full of mischief, walkedup to Rachel, and desired to know how it fared with the Spanishgentleman.

  "Poor lad! he is in woeful case!" answered the representative of theenraged British Lion. "What with soul and body, he must have bornewell-nigh the pangs of martyrdom this night. 'Tis enough to make one'sheart bleed but to look on him. And to hear him moan to himself of hismother, poor heart! when he thinks him alone--at least thus I take hiswords: I would, rather than forty shillings, she were nigh to tend him."

  From which speech it will be seen that when Rachel did "turn coat," sheturned it inside out entirely.

  "Good lack, Aunt Rachel! what is he but an evil companion?" demandedirreverent Blanche, with her usual want of respect for the opinions ofher elders.

  "If he were the worsest companion on earth, child, yet the lad may lackhis wounds dressed," said Rachel, indignantly.

  "And a Papist!"

  "So much the rather should we show him the betterness of our Protestantfaith, by Christian-wise tending of him."

  "And an enemy!" pursued Blanche, proceeding with the list.

  "Hold thy peace, maid! Be we not bidden in God's Word to do good untoour enemies?"

  "And a perturbator of the Queen's peace, Aunt Rachel!"

  "This young lad hath not much perturbed the Queen's peace, I warrant,"said Rachel, uneasily,--a dim apprehension of her niece's intentionscrossing her mind at last.

  "Nay, but hanging is far too good for him!" argued Blanche, quoting thefinal item.

  "Thou idle prating hussy!" cried Rachel, turning hastily round to faceher,--vexed, and yet laughing. "And if I have said such things in mineheat, what call hast thou to throw them about mine ears? Go get theeabout thy business."

  "I have no business, at this present, Aunt Rachel."

  "Lack-a-daisy! that a cousin [then used in the general sense ofrelative] of mine should say such a word! No business, when a barrelfulof wool waiteth the carding, and there is many a yard of flax, to bespun, and cordial waters to distil, and a full set of shirts to make forthy father, and Jack's gown to guard [trim] anew with lace, and thymother's new stomacher--"

  "Oh, mercy, Aunt Rachel!" cried lazy Blanche, putting her hands over herears.

  But Mistress Rachel was merciless--towards Blanche.

  "No business, quotha!" resumed that astonished lady. "And Margaret'swinter's gown should, have been cut down ere now into a kirtle, andLucrece lacketh both a hood and a napron, and thine own partlets havenot yet so much as the first stitch set in them. No business! Prithee,stand out of my way, Madam Idlesse, for I have no time to spend intwirling of my thumbs. And when thou find thy partlets rags, burden notme withal. No business, by my troth!"

  Muttering which, Rachel stalked away, while Blanche, instead of fetchingneedle and thread, and setting to work on her new ruffs, fled into thegarden, and ensconcing herself at the foot of the ash-tree, gazed up atthe windows of the blue chamber, and erected magnificent castles in theair. Meanwhile, Clare, who had heard Rachel's list of things waiting tobe done, and had just finished setting the lace upon Jack's gown,quietly possessed herself of a piece of fine lawn, measured off theproper length, and was far advanced in one of Blanche's neglected ruffsbefore that young lady sauntered in, when summoned by thebreakfast-bell.

  The leech thought well of the young Spaniard's case. The broken arm wasnot a severe fracture--"right easy to heal," said he in a ratherdisappointed manner; the bruises were nothing but what would disappearwith time and one of Rachel's herbal lotions. In a few weeks, the youngman might expect to be fully recovered. And until that happened, saidSir Thomas, he should remain at Enville Court.

  But the other survivors of the shipwreck did not come off so easily. Onthe day after it, one of the soldiers and one of the galley-slaves died.The remaining galley-slave, a Moorish prisoner, very grave and silent,and speaking little Spanish; the two sailors, of whom one was anItalian; and one of the soldiers, were quartered in the glebe barn--therest in one of Sir Thomas Enville's barns. Two of the soldiers werePyrenees men, and spoke French. All of them, except the Moor and theItalian, were possessed by abject terror, expecting to be immediatelykilled, if not eaten. The Italian, who was no stranger to Englishpeople, and into whose versatile mind nothing sank deep, was the onlyblithe and cheerful man in the group. The Moor kept his feelings andopinions to himself. But the others could utter nothing butlamentations, "_Ay de mi_!" [alas for me] and "_Soy muerto_!"[literally, "I am dead"--a common lamentation in Spain.] with mournfulvaticinations that their last hour was at hand, and that they wouldnever see Spain again. Sir Thomas Enville could just manage to makehimself understood by the Italian, and Mr Tremayne by the twoPyreneans. No one else at Enville Court spoke any language but English.But Mrs Rose, a Spanish lady's daughter, who had been accustomed tospeak Spanish for the first twenty years of her life; and Mrs Tremayne,who had learned it from her; and Lysken Barn
evelt, who had spoken it inher childhood, and had kept herself in practice with Mrs Rose's help--these three went in and out among the prisoners, interpreted for thedoctor, dressed the wounds, cheered the down-hearted men, and at lastpersuaded them that Englishmen were not cannibals, and that it was notcertain they would all be hung immediately.

  There was one person at Enville Court who would have given much to be afourth in the band of helpers. Clare was strongly disposed to envy herfriend Lysken, and to chafe against the bonds of conventionalism whichbound her own actions. She longed to be of some use in the world; totill some corner of the vineyard marked out specially for her; to findsome one for whom, or something for which she was really wanted. Ofcourse, making and mending, carding and spinning, distilling andpreserving, were all of use: somebody must do them. But somebody, inthis case, meant anybody. It was not Clare who was necessary. AndLysken, thought Clare, had deeper and higher work. She had to deal withhuman hearts, while Clare dealt only with woollen and linen. Was thereno possibility that some other person could see to the woollen andlinen, and that Clare might be permitted to work with Lysken, and helpthe human hearts as well?

  But Clare forgot one essential point--that a special training is neededfor work of this kind. Cut a piece of cambric wrongly, and after allyou do but lose the cambric: but deal wrongly with a human heart, andterrible mischief may ensue. And this special training Lysken hadreceived, and Clare had never had. Early privation and sorrow had beenLysken's lesson-book.

  Clare found no sympathy in her aspirations. She had once timidlyventured a few words, and discovered quickly that she would meet with nohelp at home. Lady Enville was shocked at such notions; they were bothunmaidenly and communistic: had Clare no sense of what was becoming in aknight's step-daughter? Of course Lysken Barnevelt was nobody; it didnot matter what she did. Rachel bade her be thankful that she was sowell guarded from this evil world, which was full of men, and that wasanother term for wild beasts and venomous serpents. Margaret could notimagine what Clare wanted; was there not enough to do at home? Lucrecewas demurely thankful to Providence that she was content with herstation and circumstances. Blanche was half amused, and half disgusted,at the idea of having anything to do with those dirty stupid people.

  So Clare quietly locked up her little day-dream in her own heart, andwished vainly that she had been a clergyman's daughter. Before her eyesthere rose a sunny vision of imaginary life at the parsonage, with Mrand Mrs Tremayne for her parents, Arthur and Lysken for her brother andsister, and the whole village for her family. The story never got farenough for any of them to marry; in fact, that would have spoilt it.Beyond the one change of place, there were to be no further changes. Nogoing away; no growing old; "no cares to break the still repose," exceptthose of the villagers, who were to be petted and soothed and helpedinto being all good and happy. Beyond that point, Clare's dream did notgo.

  Let her dream on a little longer,--poor Clare! She was destined to berudely awakened before long.