CHAPTER XX.

WOOD MEETS HOWARD.

"What though our hands be weaker now Than they were wont to be, When boldly forth our fathers sailed, And conquered Normandie? We still may sing their deeds of fame, In thrilling harmony; They won for us a gallant name, Ruling the stormy sea!"--_Ballad_.

After running along the coast of Angus so far as that remarkable promontory named the Red Head, which rises to the height of two hundred and fifty feet on the southern shore of Lunan Bay, Sir Andrew Wood had put his ships about, and under easy sail bore back towards Dundee, without seeing any trace of the strangers he was in search of. From the tops the light had been discerned in the _Big O_ of Arbroath, as the seamen named the great circular window of St. Thomas of Aberbrothwick, which was then illuminated at night by the charitable Benedictines of that magnificent abbey; and it formed a glorious landmark for those who traversed the German Sea, from whence it could be seen shining afar off, like a vast moon resting on the sloping promontory.

About midnight the vessels were creeping along the sandy shore of Barrie, where the waves rolled far upon the level beach, and chafed against the heaps or tumuli which cover the graves of the Danish invaders, when Master Wad, who had the middle watch, pricked up his ears on hearing the distant sound of a ship's bell. The silver mist was still so thick, that when viewed from the stern, the ship's head, and even the mizen crosstrees, were involved in obscurity.

"I hear a sound," said Falconer, who, lover-like, was still loitering on deck, and restlessly musing over the hazel-eyed Sybilla, from whom he calculated he was now only about eight or ten miles distant. "Willie," said he, "that sound is like the ringing of metal, or is it the deid bell in my ear?"

"I would hope not," replied the gunner; "for if it is sae, some o' us will be slipping our cables before day-dawn."

"There it is again--no imaginary, but a solid bell, and it rings in the mist. Can it be the Inchcape?"

"Nay, Sir David; the moon is in the west, and the tide in ebbing, so by the soundings we should ha'e the Buddon-ness about three miles off on our lee-bow."

"And the Inchcape Bell?"

"About eight miles to windward. Ewhow, sirs! there are the top-gallant sails of a large vessel glinting in the moonlight and aboon the mist like snaw on a hill-top; a pint o' sack to a pint o' bilge, it is the English captain! Call up Robert Barton--pass the word to the admiral!"

The arquebussier who stood on guard near Jacob's ladder passed this intelligence through the door of the poop, and in a moment Captain Barton and Sir Andrew came on deck. As all sailors do, they first glanced at the compass, and then cast their gaze aloft, to see that all the sails were full.

"How does she bear?" asked Sir Andrew.

"About a mile off, on the lee-bow, between us and the Gaa sands."

"Gadzooks! her draught of water must be small."

"There she's noo, sir, wi' top-gallants set aloft, for the wind is but light."

As the gunner spoke the canvas of the strange vessel was seen to glitter like snow in the moonlight; but for a moment only, as she was again immediately shrouded in mist.

"What dost thou take her to be, Robbie?" asked the admiral.

"English," replied Barton, tightening his waist-belt, "English by the rake of her masts and fashion of her top hamper."

"Art sure?"

"I got a full glisk of her just now, as she shot out of one bank into another. Hark! there goes her bell again!"

"Master Wad, got ready a gun there, for on the next tack we may fall aboard of her; I do think she is English, though there was no red-cross on her fore-topsail. But clear away for battle, Barton, for if it is the gallant Howard, we shall avenge thy father's fall, and make such a din on these waters as will scare all the fish between Fifeness and the Carlinheugh. Take in sail, and beat to quarters."

The kettle-drum rolled and the trumpet was blown: in three minutes the ports were opened; the sails reduced by the watch; the magazine opened by the gunner; the arquebussiers of Falconer manned the tops and poop, and flinging aside their bonnets and gaberdines, five hundred seamen, grasping the rammers and sponges, the linstocks and tackle of the cannon, stood in fighting order, while Master Wad fired a gun, and ran a red lantern up to the mast-head, to let Sir Alexander Mathieson, who was half a mile astern, know that the admiral had cleared for action.

"Sail ho!--here she comes again!" cried a hundred voices, as the gigantic outline of the English ship, looming like a great cloud through the mist, approached on the opposite tack, and within pistol-shot. Both shortened sail by backing their fore and mizen-yards. By the line of lights that glittered along the stranger's deck, her crew were evidently standing by their guns, and all equally prepared. Trumpet in hand, Barton, whose heart was brimming with fiery joy, sprang into the main-chains on the starboard side.

"Silence fore and aft!" cried he; but the warning was needless, for then one might have heard a pin fall on board the _Yellow Frigate_.

"Ho--the ship ahoy!"

"_Hola-ho!_" replied a voice from the waist of the stranger.

"French!" muttered Barton, in a tone of disappointment; "what ship is that?"

"The _Sainte Denis_, caravel of Monseigneur the admiral of the galleys to his Majesty Charles the Affable."

"This is the _Yellow Caravel_ of his Majesty the King of the Scots. We knew not that the admiral of France was in these seas."

"We are in pursuit of three English ships commanded by Captain Edmund Howard, brother of the lord admiral of England."

"So are we, and would give all the teeth in our heads to overhaul them. Sir Andrew Wood craves leave to pay his respects ko Monseigneur d'Esquerdes, admiral of the galleys."

"Monseigneur the Laird of Largo is welcome."

Archy, the old boatswain, was piping away the crew of the barge, when the pretended Frenchman, having no desire for such a visit, hauled his wind, braced up his yards, and stood right away into the mist, with his topsails glittering, after which Sir Andrew Wood saw no more of him. The ports were lowered, the culverins secured; Master Wad locked the magazine with a sigh, as he reflected there was no chance of fighting; the hammocks were piped down; the yards were squared; and with no ordinary feelings of disappointment, the crew of the _Yellow Frigate_ found themselves once more silently passing the Tower of Broughty towards their former anchorage off the craig of St. Nicholas.

Intent only on reaching England without perilling the crooked measures of his sovereign, Captain Howard was glad that he had succeeded in "throwing dust," as he said, "into the eyes of old Andrew Wood," and when sorely importuned by his officers and crew to fight the Scots, is reported to have lost patience, and said,

"God confound ye, fellows; dost think I will carve out my coffin to please you?"

But fate, however, and the waves and wind were against him; for before daybreak the mist was swept from the German Sea by a sudden and heavy gale from the south-east, which nearly threw the _Harry_ on her beam-ends, and compelled her to run before it, in the very opposite direction from that which Howard wished to pursue. He was driven along the dangerous coast of Kincardine; and before the second day's sunset, instead of making the coast of England, as they had hoped, the crews of the three English ships were straining every nerve, and using all the art of seamanship to weather the dangerous Cape of Buchan-ness, nearly ninety miles northward from the mouth of the Tay.

How it fared with Margaret Drummond in the meanwhile will be related in another chapter of this history.