CHAPTER II.

THE SWASHBUCKLER.

"Kind cousin Gilford, if thou lack'st good counsel At race, at cockpit, or at gaming table, Or any freak by which men cheat themselves As well of life as of the means to live, Call for assistance upon Philip Mure; But in all serious parley spare invoking him." AUCHINDRANE.

By this time, the boat which had shot off from the promontory on which the fortress is situated, was alongside the _Yellow Frigate_, which was moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, up the river, and was now some hundred yards ahead of the _Margaret_, which was but a dull sailer. As the boat neared, the song chaunted by the two rowers was heard on board. It was a dull and monotonous chant, the constant burden of which was,

"Hey, the canty carles o' Dysart! Ho, the merry lads o' Buckhaven! Hey, the saucy limmers o' Largo! Ho, the bonnie lassies o' Leven!"

"'Tis the boat of Jamie Gair," said Barton; "the bravest fellow that ever dipped a line in salt water; let a rope be hove to him from one of the larboard ports."

This was immediately done; the boat (which was one of those strong clinker-built fisher craft, which are peculiar to the Scottish firths) sheered alongside; and the two fishermen who rowed it, together with a gentleman, enveloped in a scarlet mantle, who had been lounging in the stern, ascended to the maindeck, and from thence the latter climbed by Jacob's ladder to the lofty poop, where the admiral, his second in command, and the captain of the arquebussiers, were surmising who the visitor might be.

"Pshaw!" said Sir Andrew, as they all retired aft; "'tis Sir Hew Borthwick!"

"But we must not forget ourselves altogether," urged Robert Barton; "the man is a visitor."

"True," said the admiral; "I forget."

"Welcome," said Falconer, as this visitor, not in the least daunted by the coolness of his reception, approached them jauntily, with a tall feather nodding in his bonnet, and an enormous sword trailing at his heels; "welcome on board the _Yellow Frigate_."

"A dog's welcome to him," muttered Robert Barton, under his thick mustachios; "for he is the falsest loon in all broad Scotland. Dost thou know, admiral, that 'tis said, this fellow, with two brother villains in the English pay, betrayed Berwick to the King of England?"

The Admiral nodded a brief assent.

Borthwick's appearance was somewhat forbidding. He was past forty years of age, and had black, glossy, and fierce-looking eyes; a mouth like an unhealed gash; ears set high on his head, black teeth, and a stumpy beard. He wore a faded doublet of figured satin with _mahoitres_, that had once been cloth of gold; his feet were encased in English boots of that absurd fashion then called duck-bill, as the toes were like beaks, and five inches long. A purse hung at his girdle, and a chain encircled his neck; but rumour wickedly averred that the former was frequently distended by pebbles, and that the second was only brass.

When he removed his bonnet, the remains of a tonsure were visible; for Sir Hew (the origin of whose knighthood was somewhat obscure) had formerly been a prebend in the Cathedral of Dunblane, but forsaking the cloister at a time when the ecclesiastical rule was considerably relaxed, he had espoused the more congenial occupation of sharper, bully, jockey, and swashbuckler. Always obsequious to the rich and noble, but supercilious to the poor and humble, or brutal whenever he dared venture to be so he hovered like a vulture wherever the ambulatory Court of James III. chanced to be residing.

"And now, that all ceremonious inquiries are over, may I ask, _Master_ Borthwick, on what devil's errand thou hast boarded us?" bluntly inquired Robert Barton, who, being less good-natured than the bluff old admiral, was at no pains to conceal his scorn for the swashbuckler.

The dislike was quite mutual; thus a malicious gleam lighted the eyes of Borthwick, as he replied--

"I came on board to learn that which is of much importance to the jovial gallants about Court; (nay, nay, Sir David Falconer, do not laugh quite so loud if _you_ please!) whether our good friend the admiral has been successful in his embassy to the Flemings; for since the interdict of '66, when our vessels could no longer trade with the ports of the Swyn, the Sluice, and the Dam, wine hath been so bad, and so dear----"

"That you must e'en content your noble self with plain usquebaugh," interrupted the admiral, laughing outright at the idea of communicating the result of his important mission to a pitiful fellow like Borthwick. "But canst thou tell me, sir, where are the ships of mine old messmate, Sir Andrew Barton, and where is he?"

"The ships of Sir Andrew," replied the swashbuckler, slowly, and with another malevolent glance at Robert Barton, "are anchored safely by the walls of London Tower."

"And Barton----"

"Is at the bottom of the sea, I suppose."

"Borthwick!" exclaimed the admiral, in great wrath; "if thou hast come on board to laugh at us, by Heaven's mercy, thou shalt find none here, for I will rig thee by the earings to the spritsail yard."

"He dare not trifle with us," said Robert Barton, in a thick hoarse voice, as his swarthy cheek grew pale; "be patient, Sir Andrew, and let us hear what he has to say. Hew Borthwick, thou art poor, and lovest gold, like thy own life-blood. I will give thee a hundred crowns if thou speakest the truth; but I will poniard thee on this deck, sirrah, if thou liest; so spin thy yarn, then, hand over hand; be a man for once. 'Tis a son who asks for tidings and the safety of his father."

"Quick!" added the testy admiral, stamping his foot; "for my arm is somewhat longer than my patience, sir."

"Hearken," said Borthwick, with deliberation. "On the very day you sailed for Sluice, three months ago, the Provosts of Aberdeen and Dundee appeared before the Parliament at Stirling (where the king was biding) making doleful complaints anent the great loss their burghs had suffered from the pirates of Portugal, who had seized many of their ships and barbarously murdered the crews. In five hours thereafter, Sir Andrew Barton put to sea with the _Great Lion_, the _Unicorn_ and _Little Jenny_. He sailed towards the Tagus, and by a herald's mouth demanded immediate justice from the Portuguese. Alfonso V. delayed; then stout old Barton lost his temper, and after firing a few shot at the castle of Lisbon, put to sea. Falling in with the identical ships which had committed the outrages complained of by the two Provosts, he captured and sunk them, sending the heads of their crews, daintily salted in beef barrels, to the King, at Stirling. Being somewhat soft-hearted, James, as you may believe, was no way delighted by the present; but, Sir Andrew, after cannonading every town on the coast of Portugal, as he passed it, and after destroying every ship of that nation which he met on the high seas, bore away for Scotland. Alfonso complained to his good ally the King of England; the latter made inquiries as to the most likely route to be chosen by Sir Andrew Burton on his homeward voyage, and despatched his high-admiral, the Lord Thomas Howard, and his brother Edmund, with a strong fleet of the best ships London could produce, to the Downs, as these Southerns call that part of the north sea----"

"I know, I know, off the south-east coast of England, on the Kentish shore," said the admiral, stamping a foot impatiently; "go on, man--go on!"

"After sweeping all the shores of Portugal, and after escaping a frightful tempest, on Saint Swithin's day, he was descried by the English fleet, breasting gallantly up the channel, with all sail possible on the _Lion_, and the _Jenny_, too, which bowled on alongside, like a little gadfly, all legs and arms, with sweeps out, and every stitch of canvas set."

"Ay," said Robert Barton, "she was a noble little sloop, built under my father's own eye, poor man!--Well."

"The English fleet came on in the form of a half-moon, each vessel with a large white rod at her bowsprit, in sign of amity; but Sir Andrew knew the Lord Howard of old; and undaunted by his array, came on with his guns double-shotted, and all his ports open; but failing to break through, he engaged the English admiral. A desperate conflict ensued, for the _Great Lion_ was hemmed in on every side, and boarded at both stem and stern. Through the joints of his armour, Sir Andrew was shot by an arrow, when about to retreat by the rigging into the main-top on his decks being taken; and just then, as he was falling, a cannon shot swept both his legs away. His brave crew fought round him in a circle, and he continued to cheer and encourage them, by blowing his whistle to the last, until they were all slain, or taken and disarmed. Edmund Howard, with three ships, pursued the _Jenny_; dismasted her, and shot her sweeps away; then she struck, and the survivors of both crews--only one hundred and fifty poor seamen in all--were marched in chains through the streets of London, as a spectacle to the exulting citizens. They were then flung, like felons, in the fortress which they name the Tower; but after being instructed to implore their lives from the English king, they were dismissed; and now, _Master_ Robert Barton, your father's noble ships, the _Great Lion_ and the _Unicorn_, have the honour of being esteemed the best in the navy of England, and display St. George's red cross, where St. Andrew's blue ensign waved before."

"And what says our king to all this?" asked Barton, in a voice that was rendered hoarse and tremulous by grief and passion.

"Ay," added the admiral, with a terrible frown; "what says King James?"

"He despatched the Rothesay Herald to Windsor Castle, demanding redress, and threatening war."

"And the Englishman answered--?"

"That the fate of pirates should not occasion disputes between princes."

"_Pirates!_" exclaimed Robert Barton, whose rage at such an epithet surmounted even his grief for his father's death. Borthwick's sinister eyes were brightened by a grim smile; but mutterings of anger were heard among the officers and seamen, many of whom had crowded round to hear the news from shore; and many a swarthy brow was knit, and many a hard hand clenched: for old Andrew Barton, like his compatriot and mess-mate, Andrew Wood, had long been the idol of the Scottish mariners. "_Pirates!_" reiterated Robert; "dared the English king stigmatize by such a name a gallant merchant mariner, who, by noble valour and honest industry, has won himself a fair estate and spotless reputation--a knight, who received his spurs from the hands of a queen--an admiral, second only to the Laird of Largo!"

"Second to none, my brave boy," said Sir Andrew Wood, clapping Barton on the shoulder. "Thy father was second to no man that sails upon the sea; but he hath found a sailor's grave, so rest him God! As for pirates--Heaven will know best whether kings or those who live by salt water are the most honest men. Every dog hath his day; and just now Lord Howard hath his; be patient, my boy, until our new ship, the _Great Michael_, is off the stocks, and then we shall see whether the Scottish or the English cross shall float highest above the water. But tell me, Hew Borthwick, what hath been the result of all this; for among these lubberly Flemings we learned no Scottish news."

"You all know, sir, of course," resumed the swashbuckler, assuming a lofty and impertinent air of consequence, as he stuck his left hand into the hilt of his sword, "that the king's eldest son, James Duke of Rothesay, was at his birth betrothed to the Princess Cecilia of England, daughter of the late King Edward IV.; that his brother, the Duke of Albany, was to marry King Edward's fair young sister, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy; that our adorable Princess Margaret was to marry the English Duke of Clarence; that every one was to be married to some one else, except myself, who, in all these illustrious alliances, had been strangely overlooked; when lo! the brave Archibald, Earl of Angus, who is now Warden of the East and Middle Marches, grew weary of all this traffic with England, and the long truce to war. To square accounts with Henry VII. for Barton's loss, he marched ten thousand of his vassals across the Border, and ravaged all Northumberland. So thus, for the present, have all these royal marriages ended--in fire and smoke--bloodshed and cold steel."

"So may they ever end when our kings look for alliances elsewhere than on the Continent," said Sir David Falconer.

The admiral paced up and down the deck, in a bitter and thoughtful mood, grieving for the loss of his oldest and earliest friend; one hand he thrust into the breast of his jazarine jacket; the other rested on the pommel of his poniard.

Relinquishing the ship to the care of others, Barton stood apart, gazing dreamily upon the shining river, with his heart full of sad and bitter thoughts, while involuntarily he clutched the mizen rattlins. His eyes were swimming; but he bit his bearded nether lip till the blood came. Suddenly he raised his eyes to a large mansion, which was looming high above others, through the summer haze in which Dundee was sleeping; and then a smile spread over his broad and thoughtful brow.

At that moment a hand was laid upon his shoulder, he turned, and encountered the ship's chaplain, Father Zuill, a Dominican.

"Relinquish these bitter thoughts, Barton," said he; "and come below with me to my cabin. There I will show thee an invention that will avenge thy father more surely than all the cannon in Scotland--yea, a burning-glass, that will consume a ship at the distance of a hundred leagues."

"Right, Father Zuill," said the admiral, who did not hear, or mistook, what the friar had said. "God may listen to the prayers of an honest sailor, when He turns a deaf ear to those of a king."

A few minutes after they had gone below, the friar reappeared and ascended to the ship's waist, where Sir Hew Borthwick, notwithstanding his knighthood, was comfortably regaling himself with Archy of Anster and Wad the gunner, on salt beef and spiced ale at the capstan-head. Zuill placed a purse in his hands, and said,

"Here are the hundred crowns which Captain Barton promised thee."

"A hundred crowns!" stammered Borthwick; "'tis an enormous sum, good father." (And so it was in the time of James III.)

"But Barton hath a noble heart and a princely fortune," said the chaplain, retiring hurriedly, for he had neither respect nor admiration for an apostate priest like Borthwick.

"Ah me!" muttered the latter; "where shall I conceal this, and what shall I do with it? I never had such a sum before! What a thing it is, for a poor devil, who has not had even a black penny for ten days, to find himself suddenly the king of a hundred crowns! I' faith!" he added, while concealing his prize, "'tis well that fiery birkie Barton knoweth not by _whose_ information the Lord Howard knew that the Scottish ships would pass the English Downs about Saint Swithin's day."