CHAPTER XVII.

Some do call me Jack, sweetheart, And some do call me Jille: But when I come to the king's faire courte, They call me Wilfulle Wille.

THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.

The Skipper's necessary affairs in the port engaged him all the day succeeding that of his interview with father Pierre, and therefore prevented him from making his intended visit to the Cripple of St. Jerome's. When the next morning broke upon him, the early bell of St. Mary's Chapel informed him of the Sabbath,--a day seldom distinguished in his calendar from the rest of the week. It was, however, not unheeded now, as it suggested the thought that an opportunity might be afforded him to gain a sight of Blanche Warden--and even, perchance an interview--at the service of the Chapel. In this hope he at once relinquished his design of going to St. Jerome's, at least until after the morning offices of the church were performed. Accordingly, at an hour somewhat in advance of the general attendance of the congregation, the Skipper was seen loitering in the purlieus of the Chapel, where he marked with an inquisitive but cautious watchfulness the various groups that were coming to their devotions. When at length his strained vision was able to descry a cavalcade approaching from the direction of St. Inigoe's, and he discerned the figures of Albert Verheyden and Blanche Warden dallying far in the rear of the Collector and his daughter Alice, their horses almost at a walk, and themselves manifestly engrossed in an earnest conference, he turned hastily towards the church and with a compressed lip and knitted brow, ascended the stair and threw himself into an obscure corner of the little gallery which looked upon the altar. Here he remained a sullen and concealed observer of the rites of the temple,--his bosom rankling with uncharitable thoughts, and his countenance clouded with feelings the most ungenial to the lowly self-abasement and contrition of heart which breathed in every word of the solemn ritual that addressed his ear.

The Collector's family entered the place of worship. The Secretary still accompanied Blanche, knelt beside her in prayer, opened her missal to the various services of the day, and tendered the customary offices of familiar gallantry common to such an occasion, with an unrebuked freedom: all this in the view of the Skipper, whose eye flashed with a vengeful fire, as he gazed upon the man to whom he attributed the wrong he deemed himself to have suffered in his recent interview with the maiden. The service ended and the throng was retiring, when Cocklescraft planted himself on the outside of the door. His purpose was to exchange even but a word with the daughter of the Collector--at least to win a recognition of his presence by a smile, a nod, the smallest courtesy,--so dear to the heart of a lover. She came at last, loiteringly with father Pierre and Albert Verheyden. Perhaps she did not see Cocklescraft in the shade of the big elm, even although her father's weaker sight had recognised him, and the old man had stepped aside to shake his hand. She passed on to her horse without once turning her head towards him. The Skipper abruptly sprang from the Collector to help her into her saddle, but Blanche had already Albert's hand, and in a moment was in her seat. Cocklescraft's proffered service was acknowledged by a bow and only a casual word. The Secretary in an instant mounted his steed, and, with the maiden, set forth on their ride at a brisk gallop. The Brother of the Coast forgetful of his usual circumspection, stood with folded arms and moody visage, looking darkly upon them as they disappeared, and muttering half-audible ejaculations of wrath. He was, after an interval, roused from his abstraction by the hand of father Pierre gently laid upon his shoulder:

"You have forgotten the censer of virgin silver, you promised to offer at this shrine," said the priest in a grave voice. "It was to be an offering for the sin of a wayward spirit of anger. Beware, son, that thou dost no wrong to a brother."

"I have not forgotten the censer, holy father," returned the Skipper, with an ineffectual effort to assume his usual equanimity. "I have only deferred the offering--until I may give it," he added in a stern voice--"with an honest conscience. Thou shalt have it anon. I have business now that stands in the way:--good morning to you, father." And with these words he walked rapidly away.

In the afternoon Cocklescraft was seen plying his way from the quay in a small boat, attended by two seamen who rowed him to a point some five or six miles below the town, where he landed, and set out on foot for St. Jerome's.

On the following morning, whilst the dawn yet cast its grey hue over the face of the land, two men, in shaggy frize dresses, arrived at the hut of the Cripple. They rode on rough, little beach-ponies, each provided with a sack. The mastiff bitch eyed the visiters with a malign aspect from her station beneath the door sill, and by her low mutterings warned them against a too near approach. They accordingly stood at bay.

"Curse on the slut!" said one; "she has the eye of a very devil;--it might not be safe to defy her. Not a mouse is stirring:--the old Trencherman is as still as his bowl. Were it safe, think you, to wake him?"

"Why not?" demanded the other. "He will be in a passion, and threaten, at first, with his weapon;--but when he knows we come to trade with him, I will warrant he butters his wrinkles as smoothly with a smile as you could desire. Strike your staff, Nichol, against the door."

"The fiend fetch me, if I venture so near as to strike, with that bitch at the step. Try it thyself, Perry Cadger."

"Nay, and it comes to that, I will rouse him in another fashion," said the other.

"Master Swale--Master Robert Swale--Halloo--halloo!"

"Rob, man, awake,--turn out for thy friends!" exclaimed the first. The growl of the mastiff bitch was now changed into a hoarse bark. Some stir was heard from the inside of the hut, and, in a moment afterwards, the door was unbolted and brought sufficiently open to allow the uncouth head and half dressed figure of the Cripple to be seen. A short blunderbuss was levelled directly in the face of the visiters, whilst an ungracious repulse was screamed out in a voice husky with rage.

"Begone, you misbegotten thieves! What makes you here? Do you think I am an ale draper to take in every strolling runagate of the night. Begone, or by my body, I will baptize you with a sprinkling of lead!"

"In God's name, Robert Swale," exclaimed the first speaker, "turn thy weapon aslant! Thou mayst do a deed of mischief upon thy friends. We are Nichol Upstake, and Peregrine Cadger--friends, Rob,--friends, who have come to drive bargains to thy profit. Open your eyes, Master--put on your glasses--we have gold in pocket, man."

"Ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the tenant of the hut; "thou art astir, cronies! Ha, ha! I took ye for land loupers--sharks. By the Five Wounds, I knew ye not! Have patience a space and I will open."

When the Cripple had dressed himself he came swinging forth in his bowl, and passing beyond the curtilage of his dwelling went to the beach, whither he was followed by his two visiters who had now dismounted from their ponies. Here he halted, and taking off his cap, exposed his bare head and loose white tresses to the morning breeze which came somewhat sharply from the water.

"Soh!" he exclaimed, "there is refreshment in that! It is my custom to expel these night-cap vapours with the good salt water breeze: that is a commodity that may reach the province without paying duty to his Lordship! a cheap physic, a cheap physic, masters. Now what scent art thou upon, Nichol Upstake? Perry Cadger, man of sarsnet and grogram, I guess thy errand."

"In truth, Robert Swale," said Upstake----

"No Robert Swale, nor Master Robert Swale," testily interrupted the owner of the cabin: "none of your worshipful phrase for me! Thou art but a shallow hypocrite to affect this reverence. Rob of the Bowl is the best I get from you when your longings are satisfied; ay, and it is said with a curl of your lip; and you make merry over my unworthiness with your pot-fellows. So, be honest, and give me plain Rob; I seek no flattery."

"You do us wrong, good Master Rob," interposed Peregrine Cadger----

"To your needs," said Rob, sternly: "Speak in the way of your trade! You have no voice, nor I ear for aught else."

"Then, in brief," said Nichol Upstake, "I would fain know if you could supply me with Antigua to-day, or aqua vitæ, I care not which?"

"If such a thing might be, where wouldst thou take it, Nichol?" inquired Rob.

"To Warrington on the Cliffs."

"Ay, to Warrington on the Cliffs; good!--and warily to be borne? no hawk's eye upon thy path?"

"It shall be by night, if you like it," said the dealer.

"Well, well!" replied the Cripple; "I can give you a little of both, master: a flagon or so; some three or four. My hut is small, and hath a scant cellar. But the money in hand, Nichol Upstake! Good gold--full weight--and a fair price, too, mark you! I must have a trifle above my last market--ten shillings the gallon on the brandy, and two more for the Antigua. Leave thy kegs, and see me again at sunset. The money in hand! the money in hand! there is no trust in my commonwealth."

"It shall be so," said Nichol.

"And now, Master Cadger, what wilt? You have a scheme to cozen dame and wench with gewgaws; I see it in thine eye: and you will swear upon book and cross, if need be, they have stood you a wondrous hard purchase, even at the full three hundred per cent. excess you purpose to exact above the cost; and all the while it has come out of Rob's warehouse as cheap as beggars' alms: Ha, ha, ha! This world thrives on honesty! it grows fat on virtue! knavery only starves! Your rogue in rags, what hath he but his deserts! Let him repent and turn virtuous, like you and me, Perry, and his torn cloak and threadbare doublet shall be fenced and lined to defy all weathers. Hark ye, master, I have camblets, satins, and velvets, cambric, and lawn for thee--choice commodities all. Thou shalt see them in the hut."

"How came you by so rich an inventory, Rob?"

The Cripple turned a fierce eye upon the mercer, and with one glance conveyed his meaning, as he touched the handle of his dagger and said in a low tone,

"Dost forget the covenant between us? Peregrine Cadger you know I brook no such question."

The mercer stood for a moment abashed, and then replied: "An idle word, Master Rob, which meant no harm: as you say, honesty will only thrive. You shall find never a knave that is not some part fool. I will into the hut to look at the wares."

"Do so," said the Cripple. "You will find them in the box behind the door. There is need that you leave me, so follow him, Nichol. I have sudden business, masters, which it does not concern you to witness. When you have seen what you desire, depart quickly; leave your sacks and come back at sunset. I charge you, have a care that your eyes do not wander towards my motions. You know me, and know that I have sentinels upon your steps who have power to sear your eye-balls if you but steal one forbidden glance: away!"

The dealers withdrew into the hut, wondering at the abrupt termination of their interview, and implicitly confiding in the power of the Cripple to make good his threat.

"The Lord have mercy upon us!" said the mercer, in a smothered voice, after they had entered the door; "the Cripple hath matters on hand which it were not for our good to pry into. Pray you, Nichol, let us make our survey and do his bidding, by setting forth at once. I am not the man to give him offence."

The cause of this unexpected dismissal of the visiters was the apparition of Cocklescraft, whose figure, in the doubtful light of the morning, was seen by Rob at a distance, on the profile of the bank in the neighbourhood of the Wizard's Chapel. He had halted upon observing the Cripple in company with strangers, and had made a signal which was sufficiently intelligible to the person to whom it was addressed, to explain his wish to meet him.

Rob, having thus promptly rid himself of his company, now swung on his short crutches, almost as rapidly as a good walker could have got over the ground, towards the spot where the Buccaneer had halted.

"Steer your cockleshell there to the right, old worm!" said the Freebooter, as Rob came opposite to the bank on which he stood. "You shall find it easier to come up by the hollow."

"The plagues of a foul conscience light on thee!" replied the Cripple, desisting from farther motion, and wiping the perspiration from his brow. "Is it more seemly I should waste my strength on the fruitless labour to clamber up that rough slope, or thou come down to me? You mock me, sirrah!" he added, with an expression of sudden anger; "Thou know'st I cannot mount the bank."

"Thou know'st I can drag thee up, reverend fragment of a sinful man!" returned Cocklescraft, jocularly; "yes, and with all thy pack of evil passions at thy back, besides. Would you hold our meeting in sight from the window of the hut, where you have just lodged a pair of your busy meddlers--your bumpkin cronies in the way of trade? It was such as these that, but a few nights ago, set his Lordship's hounds upon our tracks. Come up, man, without farther parley."

The Cripple's fleeting anger changed, as usual, to that bitter smile and chuckle with which he was wont to return into a tractable mood, as he said,--

"A provident rogue! a shrewd imp! He has his instinct of mischief so keen that his forecast never sleepeth. The devil hath made him a perfect scholar. There, Dickon, give me thy hand," he added, when he came to the steep ascent which his machine of locomotion was utterly inadequate to surmount. "Give me thy hand, good cut-throat. Help me to the top."

The muscular seaman, instead of extending his hand to his companion, descended the bank, and taking the bowl and its occupant upon his shoulder, strode upward to the even ground, and deposited his load with as little apparent effort as if he had been dealing with a truss of hay.

"Bravely!" ejaculated Rob, when he was set down. "I scarce could have done better in my best day. Now, what set thee to jogging so early, Dickon? Where dost thou come from?"

"From the Chapel," replied the other. "I came there from the Port last night, express to see you; and having no special favour for the bed I slept on, I left it at the first streak of light to go and rouse you from your dreams, and lo! there you are at one of your dog and wolf bargains with the country side clowns."

"Discreet knaves, Dickon, who have come to ease us of somewhat of our charge of contraband: stout jerkins--stout and well lined; rogues of substance--Nichol Upstake, the ordinary keeper of Warrington, and Perry Cadger, the mercer of St. Mary's. Seeing thee here, I dismissed them until sunset. That Peregrine Cadger is somewhat leaky as a gossip, and might tell tales if he were aware that I consorted with you."

"I see them taking the road on their ponies," said Cocklescraft; "we may venture to the hut. I am sharp set for breakfast, and when I have a contented stomach, I will hold discourse with you, Rob, touching matters of some concern to us both."

The Cripple and his guest, upon this hint, repaired to the hut, and in due time the morning meal was supplied and despatched. Cocklescraft then opened the purport of his visit.

"Has it ever come into your wise brain, Master Rob," he asked, "that you are getting somewhat old; and that it might behoove you to make a shrift at the confessional, by way of settling your account? I take it, it will not be a very clean reckoning without a good swashing penance."

"How now, thou malignant kite!" exclaimed the Cripple; "what's in the wind?"

"Simply, Rob, that the time has come when, peradventure, we must part. I am tired of this wicked life. I shall amend; and I come to counsel you to the like virtuous resolution. I will be married, Robert Swale, Man of the Bowl!"

"Grammercy! thou wilt be married! thou! I spit upon thee for a fool. What crotchet is this?"

"I will be married, as I say, neither more nor less. Now to what wench, ask you? Why to the very fairest and primest flower of this province--the Rose of St. Mary's--the Collector's own daughter. I mark that devil's sneer of unbelief of yours, old buckler man: truer word was never spoke by son of the sea or land, than I speak now."

"To the Collector's daughter!" ejaculated the Cripple, in a tone of derision. "Thy carriage is bold in the Port, but no measure of audacity will ever bring thee to that favour. Would'st thou play at thine old game, and sack the town, and take the daintiest in it for ransom? You know no other trick of wooing, Dickon."

"By my hand, Rob, I am specially besought by the Collector to make one at a choice merry-making which his daughter has on foot for next Thursday. Ay, and I am going, on his set command, to dance a gailliard with Mistress Blanche. Oh, she shall be the very bird of the sea--the girl of the billow, Rob! She shall be empress of the green wave that nursed me, and the blue sky, and the wide waste. Her throne shall be on the deck of my gay bark: and my merry men shall spring at her beck as deftly as at the boatswain's pipe!"

"You shall sooner meet your deservings," said Rob, "on the foal of the acorn, with a hempen string, than find grace with the Collector's child. Thy whole life has been adversary to the good will of the father."

"I know it," replied Cocklescraft. "I was born in natural warfare with the customs and all who gather them; the more praise for my exploit! I shall change my ways and forsake evil company. I shall be a man of worship. We shall shut up the Chapel, Rob; expel our devils; pack off our witches to Norway, and establish an honest vocation. Therefore, Rob, go to father Pierre; repent of your misdeeds, and live upon your past gains. You are rich and may afford to entertain henceforth a reputable conscience."

"Do not palter with me, sirrah! but tell me what this imports."

"Then truly, Rob, I am much disturbed in my fancies. I love the wench, and mean to have her--fairly if I can--but after the fashion of the Coast if I must. She doth not consent as yet--mainly because she hath a toy of delight in that silken Secretary of my Lord--a bookish pale-cheeked, sickly strummer of stringed instruments--one Master Verheyden, I think they call him."

"Ha!" exclaimed the Cripple, as a frown gathered on his brow; "what is he? Whence comes he?"

"His Lordship's chamber secretary," replied Cocklescraft; "brought hither I know not when nor whence. A silent-paced, priestly pattern of modesty, who feeds on the favour of his betters, as a lady's dog, that being allowed to lick the hand of his mistress, takes the privilege to snarl on all who approach her. I shall make light work with him by whipping him out of my way. Why are you angry, that you scowl so, Master Rob?"

"I needs must be angry to see thee make a fool of thyself," replied the master of the hut. "Verheyden--his Lordship's secretary!" he muttered to himself. "No, no! it would be a folly to think it."

"Mutter as you will, Rob," said Cocklescraft; "by St. Iago, I will try conclusions with the Secretary--folly or no folly! He hath taught the maiden," he added, with a bitter emphasis, "to affect a scorn for me, and he shall smart for it."

"Ha! thy spirit is ever for undoing!" exclaimed Rob, suddenly changing his mood, and forcing a harsh laugh of derision. "Mischief is your proper element--your food, your repose, your luxury. Well, if thou needst must take on a new life, and strive to be worshipful, I would counsel thee to begin it with some deed of charity, not strife. I had as well make my lecture to a young wolf! Ha, Dickon, thou wilt be a prospering pupil to the master that teaches thee the virtue of charity! Such rede will be welcome to thee as water to thy shoes! I have scanned thee in all thy humours!"

"I spurn upon your advice, and will not be scorned, old man!" said Cocklescraft, angrily. "The maiden shall be mine, though I pluck her from beneath her father's blazing roof-tree; and then farewell to the province, and to thee! Mark you that! I come not to be taunted with thy ill-favoured speech! My men shall be withdrawn from the Chapel. I will put them on worthier service than to minister to thy greediness."

"Hot-brained, silly idiot--thou drivelling fool!" shouted Rob. "Dost thou not know that I can put thee in the dust and trample on thee as a caitiff? that I can drive thee from the province as a vile outlaw? Art thou such a dizzard as to tempt my anger? If you would thrive even in your villanous wooing, have a care not to provoke my displeasure! One word from me, and not a man paces thy deck: thou goest abroad unattended, stiverless--a fugitive, with hue and cry at thy heels. How dar'st thou reprove me, boy?"

"Thy hand, Rob," said Cocklescraft, relenting. "You say no more than my folly warrants; I am a wanton fool: your pardon--let there be peace between us."

"Art reasonable again? Bravely confessed, Dickon! I forgive thy rash speech. Now go thy ways, and the Foul One speed thee! I have naught to counsel, either for strife or peace, since thou hast neither wit, wisdom, nor patience for sober advice against the current of thy will. It will not be long before this maimed trunk shall sink into its natural resting place--and it matters not to me how my remnant of time be spent--whether in hoarding or keeping. The world will find me an heir to squander what little store it hath pleased my fortune to gather. So go thy ways!"

"I will see you again, friend Rob," said the Buccaneer. "I have matter to look after at the Chapel, and then shall get back to the Port, to drive my suit to a speedy issue. I came here but in honest dealing with you, to give you friendly notice of my design, and, perchance, to get your aid. You have no counsel for me? It is well; my own head and arm shall befriend me; they have stood me in stead in straits more doubtful than this: farewell--farewell!"

As the Skipper stepped along the beach, Rob planted himself in the door of the hut and looked after him for some moments, nodding his head significantly towards him, and muttering in a cynical undertone, "Go thy ways, snake of the sea, spawn of a water devil! Thou married! ha, ha! Thy lady gay shall have a sweetened cup in thee: and thy wooing shall be tender and gentle--yea, as the appetite of the sword-fish. It shall be festival wooing--all in the light--in the light--of the bride's own blazing roof: a dainty wolf! a most tractable shark! Oh, I cannot choose but laugh!"

END OF VOLUME I.

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