So back we came and unloosed our dog (and he mighty rejoiced to see us) whereafter, by Atlamatzin's command, we were lodged in a chamber very sumptuous and with servants observant to our every want; for our meals were dishes a-plenty, savoury and excellent well cooked and seasoned, and for our drink was milk, or water cunningly flavoured with fruits, as good as any wine, to my thinking. And cups and platters, nay, the very pots, were all of pure gold.

This night, having bathed me in a small bathhouse adjacent and very luxurious, I get me to bed early (which was no more than a mat) but Sir Richard, seated upon the floor hard by (for of chairs there were none), Sir Richard, I say, must needs fall to with pen and ink, the great hound drowsing beside him, so that, lulled by the soft scratching of his busy quill, I presently slumbered also.

Next morning I awoke late to find Sir Richard squatted where he had sat last night, but this time, instead of writing case, across his knees lay a musket, and he was busied in setting a flint to the lock.

"Why, sir—what now?" I questioned.

"A musket, lad, and fifty-and-five others in the corner yonder and all serviceable, which is well."

Now as I stared at him, his bowed figure and long white hair, there was about him (despite his benevolent expression) a certain grim, fighting look that set me wondering; moreover, upon the air I heard a stir that seemed all about us, a faint yet ominous clamour.

"Sir," quoth I, getting to my feet, "what's to do?"

"Battle, Martin!" said he, testing the musket's action.

"Ha!" cried I, catching up my sword. "Are we beset?"

"By an army of Spaniards and hostile Indians, Martin. In the night came Atlamatzin to say news had come of Indians from the West, ancient enemies of this people, led on by Spanish soldiers, cavalry and arquebuseros, and bidding us fly and save ourselves before the battle joined. But you were asleep, Martin, and besides, it seemed ill in us, that had eaten their bread, to fly and leave this poor folk to death—and worse—"

"True enough, sir," said I, buckling my weapons about me, "but do you dream that we, you and I, can hinder such?"

"'Twere at least commendable in us to so endeavour, Martin. Nor is it thing so impossible, having regard to these fifty-and-five muskets and the brass cannon, seeing there is powder and shot abundant."

"How then—must we stay and fight?" I demanded. And beholding the grim set of his mouth and chin, at such odds with his white hair and gentle eyes, I knew that it must be so indeed.

"'Twas so I thought, Martin," said he a little humbly, and laying his hands upon my shoulders, "but only for myself, dear lad, I fight better than I walk, so will I stay and make this my cumbersome body of some little use, perchance; but as for thee, dear and loved lad, I would have you haste on—"

"Enough, sir," quoth I, catching his hands in mine, "if you must stay to fight, so do I."

"Tush, Martin!" said he, mighty earnest. "Be reasonable! Atlamatzin hath vowed, supposing we beat off our assailants, to provide me bearers and a litter, so shall I travel at mine ease and overtake you very soon; wherefore, I bid you go—for her sake!"

But finding me no whit moved by this or any other reason he could invent, he alternate frowned and sighed, and thereafter, slipping his arm in mine, brought me forth to show me such dispositions as he had caused to be made for the defence. Thus came we out upon the highest terrace, Pluto at our heels, and found divers of the Indians labouring amain to fill and set up baskets of loose earth after the manner of fascines, and showed me where he had caused them to plant our cannon where it might sweep that stair I have mentioned, and well screened from the enemy's observation and sheltered from his fire. And hard beside the gun stood barrels of musket balls, and round-shot piled very orderly, and beyond these, powder a-plenty in covered kegs.

And now he showed me pieces of armour, that is, a vizored headpiece or armet, with cuirass, backplates, pauldrons and vambraces, all very richly gilded, the which it seemed he had chosen for my defence.

"So, then, sir, you knew I should stay?"

"Indeed, Martin," he confessed, a little discountenanced, "I guessed you might." But I (misliking to be so confined) would have none of this gilded armour until, seeing his distress, I agreed thereto if he would do the like; so we presently armed each other and I for one mighty hot and uncomfortable.

Posted upon this, the highest terrace, at every vantage point were Indians armed with bows and arrows—men and women, aye and children—and all gazing ever and anon towards that belt of forest to the West where it seemed Atlamatzin, with ten chosen warriors, was gone to watch the approach of the invading host. Presently, from these greeny depths came a distant shot followed by others in rapid succession, and after some while, forth of the woods broke six figures that we knew for Atlamatzin and five of the ten, at sight of whom spear-points glittered and a lusty shout went up.

"See now, Martin," quoth Sir Richard, speaking quick and incisive, a grim and warlike figure in his armour, for all his stoop and limping gait, "here's the way on't: let the Indians shoot their arrows as they may (poor souls!) but we wait until the enemy be a-throng upon the stair yonder, then we open on them with our cannon here,—'tis crammed to the muzzle with musket balls; then whiles you reload, I will to my fifty-and-five muskets yonder and let fly one after t'other, by which time you, having our brass piece ready, will reload so many o' the muskets as you may and so, God aiding, we will so batter these merciless Dons they shall be glad to give over their bloody attempt and leave these poor folk in peace."

As he ended, came Atlamatzin, telling us he had fallen suddenly on the enemy's van and slain divers of them, showing us his axe bloody, and so away to hearten his people.

At last, forth of the forest marched the enemy, rank on rank, a seemingly prodigious company. First rode horsemen a score, and behind these I counted some sixty musketeers and pikemen as many, marching very orderly and flashing back the sun from their armour, while behind these again came plumed Indians beyond count, fierce, wild figures that leapt and shouted high and shrill very dreadful to hear. On they came, leaping and dancing from the forest, until it seemed they would never end, nearer and nearer until we might see their faces and thus behold how these Spaniards talked and laughed with each other as about a matter of little moment. Indeed, it angered me to see with what careless assurance these steel-clad Spaniards advanced against us in their insolent might, and bold in the thought that they had nought to fear save Indian arrows and lances and they secure in their armour. Halting below the first terrace, they forthwith began assault, for whiles divers of the pikemen began to ascend the stairway, followed by their Indian allies, the musketeers let fly up at us with their pieces to cover their comrades' advance and all contemptuous of the arrows discharged against them. But hard beside the cannon stood Sir Richard, watching keen-eyed, and ever and anon blowing on the slow-match he had made, waiting until the stairway was choked with the glittering helmets and tossing feathers of the assailants.

A deafening roar, a belch of flame and smoke that passing, showed a sight I will not seek to describe; nor did I look twice, but fell to work with sponge and rammer, loading this death-dealing piece as quickly as I might, while louder than the awful wailing that came from that gory shambles rose a wild hubbub from their comrades,—shouts and cries telling their sudden panic and consternation. But as they stood thus in huddled amaze, Sir Richard opened on them with his muskets, firing in rapid succession and with aim so deadly that they forthwith turned and ran for it, nor did they check or turn until they were out of range. Then back limped Sir Richard, his cheek flushed, his eyes bright and fierce in the shade of his helmet, his voice loud and vibrant with the joy of battle, and seeing how far the gun was recoiled, summoned divers of the Indians to urge it back into position; while this was doing, down upon this awful stair leapt Atlamatzin and his fellows and had soon made an end of such wounded as lay there.

"I pray God," cried Sir Richard, harsh-voiced, as he struck flint and steel to relight his match, "I pray God this may suffice them!"

And beholding the wild disorder of our assailants, I had great hopes this was so indeed, but as I watched, they reformed their ranks and advanced again, but with their Indians in the van, who suddenly found themselves with death before them and behind, for the Spanish musketeers had turned their pieces against them to force them on to the attacks. So, having no choice, these poor wretches came on again, leaping and screaming their battle cries until the stair was a-throng with them; on and up they rushed until Death met them in roaring flame and smoke. But now all about us was the hum of bullets, most of which whined harmlessly overhead, though some few smote the wall behind us. But small chance had I to heed such, being hard-set to prime and load as, time after time, these poor Indians, driven on by their cruel masters, rushed, and time after time were swept away; and thus we fought the gun until the sweat ran from me and I panted and cursed my stifling armour, stripping it from me piece by piece as occasion offered. And thus I took a scathe from bullet or splinter of stone, yet heeded not until I sank down sick and spent and roused to find Pluto licking my face and thereafter to see Sir Richard kneeling over me, his goodly armour dinted and scarred by more than one chance bullet.

"Drink!" he commanded, and set water to my lips, the which mightily refreshed me.

"Sir, what o' the fight?" I questioned.

"Done, lad, so far as we are concerned," said he. "Atlamatzin fell upon 'em with all his powers and routed them—hark!"

Sure enough, I heard the battle roar away into the forest and beyond until, little by little, it sank to a murmurous hum and died utterly away. But all about us were other sounds, and getting unsteadily to my legs, I saw the plain 'twixt town and forest thick-strewn with the fallen.

"So then the town is saved, sir?"

"God be praised, Martin!"

"Why, then, let us on—to meet my dear lady!" But now came an Indian to bathe my hurt, an ugly tear in my upper arm, whereto he set a certain balsam and a dressing of leaves and so bound it up very deftly and to my comfort.

And now was I seized of a fierce desire to be gone; I burned in a fever to tramp those weary miles that lay 'twixt me and my lady Joan; wherefore, heedless alike of my own weakness, of Sir Richard's remonstrances and weariness, or aught beside in my own fevered desire, I set out forthwith, seeing, as in a dream, the forms of Indians, men, women and children, who knelt and cried to us as in gratitude or farewell; fast I strode, all unmindful of the old man who plodded so patiently, limping as fast as he might to keep pace with me, heeding but dimly his appeals, his cries, hasting on and on until, stumbling at last, I sank upon my knees and, looking about, found myself alone and night coming down upon me apace. Then was I seized of pity for him and myself and a great yearning for my lady, and sinking upon my face I wept myself to sleep.



CHAPTER XXX

WE RESUME OUR JOURNEY

I waked in a place of trees, very still and quiet save for the crackle of the fire that blazed near by. Close beside me lay my musket; pendant from a branch within reach dangled my sword. Hereupon, finding myself thus solitary, I began to call on Sir Richard and wondered to hear my voice so weak; yet I persisted in my shouting and after some while heard a joyous bark, and to me bounded Pluto to rub himself against me and butt at me with his great head. While I was caressing this good friend, cometh Sir Richard himself and in his hand a goodly fish much like to a trout.

"Lord, Martin!" said he, sitting beside me, "'tis well art thyself again, lad. Last evening you must set out, and night upon us, must stride away like a madman and leave me alone; but for this good dog I should ha' lost you quite. See now, lad, what I have caught for our breakfast. I was a notable good angler in the old days and have not lost my cunning, it seems."

Now as he showed me his fish and set about gutting and preparing it, I could not but mark his drawn and haggard look, despite his brave bearing, and my heart smote me.

"Sir, you are sick!" quoth I.

"Nay, Martin, I am well enough and able to go on as soon as you will. But for the present, rest awhile, lest the fever take you again, this cloak 'neath your head—so!"

"What o'clock is it?"

"Scarce noon and the sun very hot."

"How came I here in the shade?"

"I dragged you, Martin. Now sleep, lad, and I'll to my cooking."

At this I protested I had no mind for sleep, yet presently slumbered amain, only to dream vilely of fire and of Adam and his fellows in desperate battle, and above the din of fight heard my lady calling on my name as one in mortal extremity and waking in sweating panic, my throbbing head full of this evil vision, was for setting out instantly to her succour. But at Sir Richard's desire I stayed to gulp down such food as he had prepared, telling him meanwhile of my vision and something comforted by his assurance that dreams went by contrary. Howbeit, the meal done, we set out once more, bearing due northeast by the compass Sir Richard had brought from the Maya city. So we journeyed through this tangled wilderness, my' head full of strange and evil fancies, cursing the wound that sapped my strength so that I must stumble for very weakness, yet dreaming ever of my lady's danger, struggling up and on until I sank to lie and curse or weep because of my helplessness.

Very evil times were these, wherein I moved in a vague world, sometimes aware of Sir Richard's patient, plodding form, of the dog trotting before, of misty mountains, of rushing streams that must be crossed, of glaring heats and grateful shadow; sometimes I lay dazzled by a blazing sun, sometimes it was the fire and Sir Richard's travel-worn figure beyond, sometimes the calm serenity of stars, but ever and always in my mind was a growing fear, a soul-blasting dread lest our journey be vain, lest the peril that me thought threatened Joan be before us and we find her dead. And this cruel thought was like a whip that lashed me to a frenzy, so that despite wound and weakness I would drive my fainting body on, pursuing the phantom of her I sought and oft calling miserably upon her name like the madman I was; all of the which I learned after from Sir Richard. For, of an early morning I waked to find myself alone, but a fire of sticks burned brightly and against an adjacent rock stood our two muskets, orderly and to hand.

Now as I gazed about, I was aware of frequent sighings hard by and going thitherward, beheld Sir Richard upon his knees, absorbed in a passion of prayer, his furrowed cheeks wet with tears. But beyond this I was struck with the change in him, his haggard face burned nigh black with fierce suns, his garments rent and tattered, his poor body more bent and shrunken than I had thought. Before him sat Pluto, wagging his tail responsive to every passionate gesture of those reverently clasped hands, but who, espying me, uttered his deep bark and came leaping to welcome me; whereupon, seeing I was discovered, I went to Sir Richard and, his prayer ended, lifted him in my arms.

"Ah, Martin, dear lad," said he, embracing me likewise, "surely God hath answered my prayer. You are yourself again." And now, he sitting beside the fire whiles I prepared such food as we had, he told me how for five days I had been as one distraught, wandering haphazard and running like any madman, calling upon my lady's name, and that he should have lost me but for the dog.

"Alas, dear sir," quoth I, abashed by this recital, "I fear in my fool's madness I have worn you out and nigh beyond endurance."

"Nay, Martin," said he, "it doth but teach me what I knew, that lusty youth and feeble age are ill travelling companions, for needs must you go, your soul ever ahead of you, yet schooling your pace to mine, and for this I do love you so that I would I were dead and you free to speed on your strength—"

"Never say so, dear father," quoth I, folding my arm about his drooping form, "my strength shall be yours henceforth."

And presently he grew eager to be gone, but seeing me unwilling, grew the more insistent to travel so far as we might before the scorching heats should overtake us. So we started, I carrying his musket beside my own and despite his remonstrances.

An evil country this, destitute of trees and all vegetation save small bushes few and prickly cactus a-many, a desolation of grim and jagged rocks and barren, sandy wastes full of sun-glare and intolerable heat. And now, our water being gone, we began to be plagued with thirst and a great host of flies so bold as to settle on our mouths, nostrils and eyes, so that we must be for ever slapping and brushing them away. Night found us faint and spent and ravenous for water and none to be found, and to add further to our agonies, these accursed flies were all about us still, singing and humming, and whose bite set up a tickling itch, so that what with these and our thirst we got little or no rest.

"Martin," said Sir Richard, hearing me groan, "we should be scarce four days from the sea by my reckoning—"

"Aye," said I, staring up at the glory of stars, "but how if we come on no water? Our journey shall end the sooner, methinks."

"True, Martin," said he, "but we are sure to find water soon or late—"

"God send it be soon!" I groaned. Here he sets himself to comfort Pluto who lay betwixt us, panting miserably, with lolling tongue or snapping fiercely at these pestilent flies.

And thus we lay agonising until the moon rose and then, by common consent, we stumbled on, seeking our great desire. And now as I went, my mouth parched, my tongue thickening to the roof of my mouth, I must needs think of plashing brooks, of bubbling rills, of sweet and pellucid streams, so that my torment was redoubled, yet we dared not stop, even when day came.

Then forth of a pitiless heaven blazed a cruel sun to scorch us, thereby adding to this agony of thirst that parched us where we crawled with fainting steps, our sunken eyes seeking vainly for the kindly shade of some tree in this arid desolation. And always was my mind obsessed by that dream of gurgling brooks and bubbling rills; and now I would imagine I was drinking long, cool draughts, and thrusting leathern tongue 'twixt cracking lips, groaned in sharper agony. So crept we on, mile after mile, hoping the next would show us some blessed glimpse of water, and always disappointed until at last it seemed that here was our miserable end.

"Martin," gasped Sir Richard, sinking in my failing clasp, his words scarce articulate, "I can go no farther—leave me, sweet son—'tis better I die here—go you on—"

"No!" groaned I, and seeing Sir Richard nigh to swooning, I took him in my arms. Reeling and staggering I bore him on, my gaze upon a few scattered rocks ahead of us where we might at least find shade from this murderous sun. Thus I struggled on until my strength failed and I sank to this burning sand where it seemed we were doomed to perish after all, here in this pitiless wild where even the dog had deserted us. And seeing Death so near, I clasped Sir Richard ever closer and strove to tell him something of my love for him, whereupon he raised one feeble hand to touch my drooping head.

Now as I babbled thus, I heard a lazy flap of wings and lifting weary eyes, beheld divers of these great birds that, settling about, hopped languidly towards us and so stood to watch us, raffling their feathers and croaking hoarsely. So I watched them, and well-knowing what they portended, drew forth a pistol and, cocking it, had it ready to hand. But as I did so they broke into shrill clamour and, rising on heavy wings, soared away as came Pluto to leap about us, uttering joyous barks and butting at us with his head. And then I saw him all wet, nay, as I gazed on him, disbelieving my eyes, he shook himself, sprinkling us with blessed water. Somehow I was upon my feet and, taking Sir Richard's swooning body across my shoulder, I stumbled on towards that place of rocks, Pluto running on before and turning ever and anon to bark, as bidding me hasten. So at last, panting and all foredone, came I among these rocks and saw them open to a narrow cleft that gave upon a gorge a-bloom with flowers, a very paradise; and here, close to hand, a little pool fed by a rill or spring that bubbled up amid these mossy rocks.

So took I this life-giving water in my two hands and dashed it in Sir Richard's face, and he, opening his eyes, uttered a hoarse cry of rapture. And so we drank, kneeling side by side. Yet our throats and tongues so swollen we could scarce swallow at the first, and yet these scant drops a very ecstasy. But when I would have drunk my fill, Sir Richard stayed me lest I do myself an injury and I, minding how poor souls had killed themselves thus, drank but moderately as he bade me, yet together we plunged our heads and arms into this watery delight, praising God and laughing for pure joy and thankfulness. Then, the rage of our thirst something appeased, we lay down within this shadow side by side and presently fell into a most blessed slumber.

I waked suddenly to a piteous whining and, starting up, beheld Pluto crawling towards me, his flank transfixed with an Indian arrow. Up I sprang to wake Sir Richard and peer down into the shadowy gorge below, but saw no more than flowering thickets and bush-girt rock. But as I gazed thus, musket in hand, Sir Richard gave fire and while the report yet rang and echoed, I saw an Indian spring up from amid these bushes and go rolling down into the thickets below.

"One, Martin!" quoth Sir Richard and, giving me his piece to reload, turned to minister to Pluto's hurt. Where he lay whining and whimpering. Suddenly an arrow struck the rock hard beside me and then came a whizzing shower, whereupon we took such shelter as offered and whence we might retort upon them with our shot. And after some while, as we lay thus, staring down into the gorge, came the report of a musket and a bullet whipped betwixt us.

"Lord, Martin!" quoth Sir Richard cheerily, his eyes kindling. "It was vastly unwise to fall asleep by this well in so thirsty a country; 'tis a known place and much frequented, doubtless. Wisdom doth urge a retreat so soon as you have filled our water bottles; meantime I will do all I may to dissuade our assailants from approaching too near."

So saying, he levelled his piece and, dwelling on his aim, fired, whiles I, screened from bullets and arrows alike, filled our flasks and doing so, espied a small cave, excellent suited to our defence and where two determined men might hold in check a whole army.

Hereupon I summoned Sir Richard who, seeing this cave commanded the gorge and might only be carried in front, approved it heartily, so thither we repaired, taking Pluto with us and him very woful. And lying thus in our little fort we laid out our armament, that is, our two muskets and four pistols, and took stock of our ammunition, I somewhat dashed to find we had but thirty charges betwixt us, the pistols included. Sir Richard, on the other hand, seemed but the more resolute and cheery therefor.

"For look now, Martin," said he, cocking his musket and levelling it betwixt the boulders we had piled to our better defence, "here we have fifteen lives, or say twenty, though you are better with sword than musket I take it; should these not suffice, then we have two excellent swords and lastly our legs, indifferent bad as regards mine own, but in a little 'twill be black dark, the moon doth not rise till near dawn. So here are we snug for the moment and very able to our defence these many hours, God be thanked!" And thus he of his own indomitable spirit cheered me. Suddenly he pulled trigger and as the smoke cleared I saw his bullet had sped true, for amid certain rocks below us a man rose up, clad in Spanish half-armour, and sinking forward, lay there motionless, plain to our view.

"Two!" quoth Sir Richard, and fell to reloading his piece, wadding the charge with strips from his ragged garments.

The fall of this Spaniard caused no little stir among our unseen assailants, for the air rang with fierce outcries and the shrill battle hootings of the Indians, and a shower of arrows rattled among the rocks about us and thereafter a volley of shot, and no scathe to us.

"War is a hateful thing!" quoth Sir Richard suddenly. "See yon Spaniard I shot, God forgive me—hark how he groaneth, poor soul!" And he showed me the Spaniard, who writhed ever and anon where he lay across the rock and wailed feebly for water. "Methinks 'twere merciful to end his sufferings, Martin!"

"Mayhap, sir, though we have few enough charges to spare!"

"Thus speaketh cold prudence and common sense, Martin, and yet—"

But here the matter was put beyond dispute for, even as Sir Richard levelled his musket, the wounded Spaniard slipped and rolled behind the rock and lay quite hid save for a hand and arm that twitched feebly ever and anon.

"And he was crying for water!" sighed Sir Richard, "Thirst is an agony, as we do know. Hark, he crieth yet! Twere act commendable to give drink to a dying man, enemy though he be."

"Most true, sir, but—nay, what would you?" I said, grasping his arm as he made to rise.

"Endeavour as much good as I may in the little of life left to me, Martin. The poor soul lieth none so far and—"

"Sir—sir!" quoth I, tightening my hold. "You would be shot ere you had gone a yard—are ye mad indeed or—do you seek death?" Now at this he was silent, and I felt him trembling.

"This is as God willeth, Martin!" said he at last. "Howbeit I must go; prithee loose me, dear lad!"

"Nay!" cried I harshly. "If you will have our enemy drink, I shall bear it myself—"

"No, no!" cried he, grappling me in turn as I rose. "What I may do you cannot—be reasonable, Martin—you bulk so much greater than I, they cannot fail of such a mark—"

Now as we argued the matter thus, each mighty determined, Pluto set up a joyous barking and, rising on three legs, stood with ears cocked and tail wagging, the which put me in no small perplexity until, all at once, certain bushes that grew hard by swayed gently and forth of the leaves stepped an Indian clad for battle, like a great chief or cacique (as 'tis called) for on arm and breast and forehead gold glittered, and immediately we knew him for Atlamatzin.

"Greeting to ye, father and brother!" said he, saluting us in his grave and stately fashion. "Atlamatzin and his people are full of gratitude to ye and because ye are great and notable warriors, scornful of the white man's God, Atlamatzin and his warriors have followed to do ye homage and bring ye safe to your journey's end, and finding ye, lo! we find also our enemies, whose eyes seeing nought but ye two, behold nought of the death that creepeth about them; so now, when the shadow shall kiss the small rock yonder, do you make your thunder and in that moment shall Atlamatzin smite them to their destruction and, if the gods spare him, shall surely find ye again that are his father and brother!"

Something thus spake he below his breath in his halting Spanish, very grave and placid, then saluting us, was gone swift and silent as he came.

"An inch!" quoth Sir Richard, pointing to the creeping shadow and so we watched this fateful shade until it was come upon the rock, whereupon I let off my piece and Sir Richard a moment after, and like an echo to these shots rose sudden dreadful clamour, shouts, the rapid discharge of firearms; but wilder, fiercer, and louder than all the shrill and awful Indian battle cry. And now, on bush-girt slopes to right and left was bitter strife, a close-locked fray that burst suddenly asunder and swirled down till pursued and pursuer were lost amid that tangle of blooming thickets where it seemed the battle clamoured awhile, then roared away as the enemy broke and fled before the sudden furious onset of Atlamatzin's warriors.

As for us, we lay within our refuge, nor stirred until this din of conflict was but a vague murmur, for though we might see divers of the fallen where they lay, these neither stirred nor made any outcry since it seemed their business was done effectually.

"And now, Martin," said Sir Richard, rising, "'tis time we got hence lest any of our assailants come a-seeking us."

So being out of the cave, I set myself to see that we had all our gear to hand, to empty and refill my flask with this good water and the like until, missing Sir Richard, I turned to behold him already hard upon that rock where lay the wounded Spaniard, Pluto limping at his heels. Being come to the rock, Sir Richard unslung his water bottle and stopped, was blotted out in sudden smoke-cloud, and, even as the report reached me, I began to run, raving like any madman; and thus, panting out prayers and curses, I came where stood Sir Richard leaning against this rock, one hand clasped to his side, and the fingers of this hand horribly red. And now I was aware of a shrill screaming that, ending suddenly, gave place to dreadful snarling and worrying sound, but heedless of aught but Sir Richard's wound, I ran to bear him in my arms as he fell.

"Oh, Martin," said he faintly, looking up at me with his old brave smile, "'tis come at last—my journeying is done—"

Scarce knowing what I did, I gathered him to my bosom and bore him back to the cave; and now, when I would have staunched his hurt, he shook feeble head.

"Let be, dear lad," said he, "nought shall avail—not all your care and love—for here is friend Death at last come to lift me up to a merciful God!"

None the less I did all that I might for his hurt save to probe for the pistol ball that was gone too deep. And presently, as I knelt beside him in a very agony of helplessness, cometh Pluto, fouled with blood other than his own, and limping hither, cast himself down, his great paw across Sir Richard's legs, licking at those weary feet that should tramp beside us no farther. And thus night found us.

"Martin," said Sir Richard suddenly, his voice strong, "bear me out where I may behold the stars, for I—ever loved them and the wonder of them—even in my—unregenerate days." So I bore him without, and indeed the heavens were a glory.

"Dear lad," said he, clasping my hand, "grieve not that I die, for Death is my friend—hath marched beside me these many weary miles, yet spared me long enough to know and love you ever better for the man you are.—Now as to Joan, my daughter, I—grieve not to see her—but—God's will be done, lad, Amen. And because I knew I must die here in Darien, I writ her a letter—'tis here in my bosom—give it her, saying I—ever loved her greatly more than I let her guess and that—by my sufferings I was a something better man, being—humbler, gentler, and of—a contrite heart. And now, Martin—thou that didst forgive and love thine enemy, saving him at thine own peril and using him as thy dear friend—my time is come—I go into the infinite—Death's hand is on me but—a kindly hand—lifting me—to my God—my love shall go with ye—all the way—you and her—alway. Into Thy hands, O Lord!"

And thus died my enemy, like the brave and noble gentleman he was, his head pillowed upon my bosom, his great soul steadfast and unfearing to the last.

And I, a lost and desolate wretch, wept at my bitter loss and cried out against the God who had snatched from me this the only man I had ever truly loved and honoured. And bethinking me of his patient endurance, I thought I might have been kinder and more loving in many ways and to my grief was added bitter self-reproaches.

At last, the day appearing, I arose and, taking up my dead, bore him down to the gorge and presently came upon a quiet spot unsullied by the foulness of battle; and here, amid the glory of these blooming thickets, I laid him to his last rest, whiles Pluto watched me, whining ever and anon. And when I had made an end, I fell on my knees and would have prayed, yet could not.

So back went I at last, slow-footed, to the cave and thus came on Sir Richard's letter, it sealed and superscribed thus:

Unto my loved daughter, Joan Brandon,

And beholding this beloved name, a great heart-sickness came on me with a vision of a joy I scarce dared think on that had been mine but for my blind selfishness and stubborn will; and with this was a knowledge of all the wasted years and a loss unutterable. And thus my grief took me again, so that this letter was wetted with tears of bitter remorse.

At last I arose (the letter in my bosom) and girding my weapons about me (choosing that musket had been Sir Richard's) stood ready to begone. But now, missing the dog, I called to him, and though he howled in answer, he came not, wherefore following his outcries, they brought me to Sir Richard's grave and Pluto crouched thereby, whimpering. At my command he limped towards me a little way, then crawled back again, and this he did as often as I called, wherefore at last I turned away and, setting forth in my loneliness, left these two together.



CHAPTER XXXI

I MEET A MADMAN

Having taken my bearings, I set off at speed nor did I stay for rest or refreshment until I had traversed many miles and the sun's heat was grown nigh intolerable. So I halted in such shade as the place offered and having eaten and drunk, I presently fell asleep and awoke to find the day far spent and to look around for Sir Richard as had become my wont. And finding him not, in rushed memory to smite me anew with his death, so that I must needs fall to thinking of his lonely grave so far behind me in these wilds; wherefore in my sorrow I bitterly cursed this land of cruel heat, of quenchless thirst and trackless, weary ways, and falling on my knees, I prayed as I had never prayed, humbly and with no thought of self, save that God would guide me henceforth and make me more worthy the great health and strength wherewith He had blessed me, and, if it so pleased Him, bring me safe at last to my dear lady's love. Thus after some while I arose and went my solitary way, and it seemed that I was in some ways a different and a better man, by reason of Sir Richard his death and my grief therefor.

And as the darkness of night deepened about me and I striding on, guided by the dim-seen needle of my compass, often I would fancy Sir Richard's loved form beside me or the sound of his limping step in my ear, so that in the solitude of this vasty wilderness I was not solitary, since verily his love seemed all about me yet, even as he had promised.

All this night I travelled apace nor stayed until I fell for very weariness and lying there, ate such food as I had, not troubling to light a fire, and fell asleep. Now as I lay, it seemed that Sir Richard stood above me, his arm reached out as to fend from me some evil thing, yet when he spoke, voice and words were those of Joanna:

"Hola, Martino fool, and must I be for ever saving your life?"

And now I saw it was Joanna indeed who stood there, clad in her male attire, hand on hip, all glowing, insolent beauty; but as I stared she changed, and I saw her as I had beheld her last, her gown and white bosom all dabbled with her blood, but on her lips was smile ineffably tender and in her eyes the radiance of a joy great beyond all telling.

"Lover Martino," said she, bending above me, "I went for you to death, unfearing, for only the dead do know the perfect love, since death is more than life, so is my love around you for ever—wake, beloved!"

Herewith she bent and touched me and, waking, I saw this that touched me was no more than the leafy end of a branch 'neath which I chanced to lie,—but pendant from this swaying branch I espied a monstrous shape that writhed toward me in the dimness; beholding which awful, silent thing I leapt up, crying out for very horror and staying but to snatch my gun, sped from this evil place, nigh sick with dread and loathing.

The moon was up, dappling these gloomy shades with her pure light and as I sped, staring fearfully about me, I espied divers of these great serpents twisted among the boughs overhead, and monstrous bat-like shapes that flitted hither and thither so that I ran in sweating panic until the leafage, above and around me, thinning out, showed me the full splendour of this tropic moon and a single great tree that soared mightily aloft to thrust out spreading branches high in air. Now as I approached this, I checked suddenly and, cocking my musket, called out in fierce challenge, for round the bole of this tree peeped the pallid oval of a face; thrice I summoned, and getting no answer, levelled and fired point-blank, the report of my piece waking a thousand echoes and therewith a chattering and screeching from the strange beasts that stirred in the denser woods about me; and there (maugre my shot), there, I say, was the face peering at me evilly as before. But now something in its stark and utter stillness clutched me with new dread as, slinging my musket and drawing pistol, I crept towards this pallid, motionless thing and saw it for a face indeed, with mouth foolishly agape, and presently beheld this for a man fast-bound to the tree and miserably dead by torture. And coming near this awful, writhen form, I apprehended something about it vaguely familiar, and suddenly (being come close) saw this poor body was clad as an English sailor; perceiving which, I shivered in sudden dread and made haste to recharge my musket, spilling some of my precious powder in my hurry, and so hasting from this awful thing with this new dread gnawing at my heart.

Presently before me rose steepy crags very wild and desolate, but nowhere a tree to daunt me. Here I halted and my first thought to light a fire, since the gloomy thickets adjacent and the sombre forests beyond were full of unchancy noises, stealthy rustlings, shrill cries and challengings very dismal to hear. But in a while, my fire burning brightly, sword loose in scabbard, musket across my knee and my back 'gainst the rock, I fell to pondering my dream and the wonder of it, of Joanna and her many noble qualities, of her strange, tempestuous nature; and lifting my gaze to the wonder of stars, it seemed indeed that she, though dead, yet lived and must do so for ever, even as these quenchless lights of heaven; and thus I revolved the mystery of life and death until sleep stole upon me.

I waked suddenly to snatch up my musket and peer at the dim figure sitting motionless beyond the dying fire, then, as a long arm rose in salutation, lowered my weapon, mighty relieved to recognise the Indian, Atlamatzin.

"Greeting, my brother," quoth he; "all yesterday I followed on thy track, but my brother is swift and Atlamatzin weary of battle."

"And what of the battle?"

"Death, my brother: as leaves of the forest lie the Maya warriors, but of our enemies none return. So am I solitary, my work done, and solitary go I to Pachacamac that lieth beside the Great Sea. But there is an empty place betwixt us, brother—what of the old cacique so cunning in battle—what of my father?"

Here, as well as I might, I told him of Sir Richard's cruel murder; at this he was silent a great while, staring sombrely into the fire. Suddenly he started and pointed upward at a great, flitting shape that hovered above us and sprang to his feet as one sore affrighted, whereupon I told him this was but a bat (though of monstrous size) and could nothing harm us.

"Nay, brother, here is Zotzilaha Chimalman that reigneth in the House of Bats, for though Atlamatzin was born without fear, yet doth he respect the gods, in especial Zotzilaha Chimalman!"

Now hereupon, seeing the dawn was at hand, I rose, nor waited a second bidding for, gods or no, this seemed to me a place abounding in terrors and strange evils, and I mighty glad of this Indian's fellowship. So up I rose, tightening my girdle, but scarce had I shouldered my musket than I stood motionless, my heart a-leaping, staring towards a certain part of the surrounding woods whence had sounded a sudden cry. And hearkening to this, back rushed that sick dread I had known already, for this was a human cry, very desolate and wistful, and the words English:

"Jeremy, ahoy—oho, Jeremy!"

Breaking the spell that numbed me, I made all haste to discover the wherefore of these dolorous sounds and plunged into the noxious gloom of the woods, Atlamatzin hard on my heels; and ever as we went, guided by these hoarse shouts, the dawn lightened about us.

Thus presently I espied a forlorn figure afar off, crouched beneath a tree, a strange, wild figure that tossed a knife from hand to hand and laughed and chattered 'twixt his shouting.

"Ahoy, Jerry, I'm all adrift—where be you? I'm out o' my soundings, lad—'tis me—'tis Dick—your old messmate as drank many a pint wi' you alongside Deptford Pool—Ahoy, Jeremy!"

Now espying us where we stood, he scrambled to his feet, peering at us, through his tangled hair: then, dropping his knife, comes running, his arms outstretched, then checks as suddenly and stares me over with a cunning leer.

"Avast, Dick!" said he, smiting himself on ragged breast. "This bean't poor Jerry—poor Jerry ain't half his size—a little man be Jeremy, not so big as Sir Adam—"

"Who!" cried I and, dropping my gun, I caught him by his ragged sleeve, whereupon he grinned foolishly, then as suddenly scowled and wrenched free. "Speak, man!" said I in passionate pleading. "Is it Sir Adam Penfeather you mean—Captain Penfeather?"

"Maybe I do an' maybe I don't, so all's one!" said he. "Howsomever, 'tis Jerry I'm arter—my mate Jeremy as went adrift from me—my mate Jerry as could sing so true, but I was the lad to dance!" And here he must needs fall a-dancing in his rags, singing hoarsely:

"Heave-ho, lads, and here's my ditty! Saw ye e'er in town or city A lass to kiss so sweet an' pretty As Bess o' Bednall Green.

"Heave-ho, lads, she's one to please ye Bess will kiss an' Bess will—"

"Oho, Jerry—Jeremy—ahoy—haul your wind, lad; bear up, Jerry, an' let Dick come 'longside ye, lad—!" and here the poor wretch, from singing and dancing, falls to doleful wailing with gush of tears and bitter sobs.

"Tell me," said I as gently as I might and laying a hand on his hairy shoulder, "who are you—the name of your ship—who was your captain?"

But all I got was a scowl, a sudden buffet of his fist, and away he sped, raising again his hoarse and plaintive cry:

"Ahoy, Jerry—Jeremy, ho!"

And thus, my mind in a ferment, I must needs watch him go, torn at by briars, tripped by unseen obstacles, running and leaping like the poor, mad thing he was.

Long I stood thus in painful perplexity, when I heard a sudden dreadful screaming at no great distance:

"Oh, Jerry—Oh, Jerry, lad—what ha' they done to thee—Oh, Christ Jesus!"

Then came a ringing shot, and guessing what this was I turned away, "Atlamatzin," said I, taking up my musket, "you spake truth—verily this place is accursed—come, let us begone!"

For long hours I strode on, scarce heeding my silent companion or aught else, my mind pondering the mention this poor, mad wretch had made of "Sir Adam," and ever my trouble grew, for if he and the dead man Jeremy were indeed of Adam's company (the which I suspected) how should they come thus lost in the wild, except Adam had met with some disaster, and were this truly so indeed, then what of my dear and gentle lady? And now I must needs picture to myself Adam slain, his men scattered and, for Joan, such horrors that it was great wonder I did not run mad like this poor, lost mariner. Tormented thus of my doubts and most horrid speculations, I went at furious speed, yet ever my fears grew the more passionate until it grew beyond enduring and I sighed and groaned, insomuch that my Indian comrade stood off, eyeing me askance where I had cast myself miserably beside the way.

"My brother is haunted by the evil spirits sent abroad for his destruction by Chimalman, so shall he presently run mad and become sacred to Zotzilaha Chimalman and suddenly die, except he obey me. For I, Atlamatzin, that am without fear and wise in the magic of my people, shall drive hence these devils an ye will."

"Do aught you will," groaned I, "if you can but rid me of evil fancies and imaginings."

Forthwith he kindled a fire and I, watching dull and abstracted, being full of my trouble, was aware of him cracking and bruising certain herbs or leaves he had plucked, mingling these with brownish powder from the deerskin pouch he bore at his girdle, which mixture he cast upon the fire, whence came a smoke very sweet and pungent that he fanned towards me.

"Behold my smoke, brother!" saith he, his voice suddenly loud and commanding, "smell of it and watch how it doth thicken and close about thee!" And verily as I looked, I saw nought but a column of whirling smoke that grew ever more dense and in it, this loud compelling voice.

"Hearken, my brother, to the voices of thy good angels; behold and see truth afar—" The loud voice died away and in its place came another, and I knew that Joanna spoke to me out of this whirling smoke cloud.

"Oh, Martino, hast thou so little faith to think my blood spilt in vain? Did I not give thee unto her that waiteth, living but for thee, yes? Look and behold!"

I saw a gleam of metal amid the green and four ship's culverins or demi-cannon mounted on rough, wheeled carriages and hauled at by wild-looking men, who toiled and sweated amain, for the way was difficult and their ordnance heavy; and amongst these men one very quick and active, very masterful of look and imperious of gesture, a small man in battered harness, and knowing him for Adam, I would have hailed him, but even then he was gone and nought to see but this writhing smoke cloud.

I beheld a great, orbed moon, very bright and clear, and slumbering in this calm radiance a goodly city with a harbour where rode many ships great and small, and beside this harbour, defending these ships and the city itself, a notable strong castle or fort, high-walled and embattled, with great ordnance mounted both landward and towards the sea. And nigh upon this fort I beheld the stealthy forms of men, toilworn and ragged, whose battered, rusty armour glinted ever and anon as they crept in two companies advancing to right and left. Behind these, masked in the brush on the edge of the forest, four demi-cannon with gunners to serve them, foremost of whom was a short, squat fellow who crept from gun to gun, and him I knew for Godby. And presently from these four guns leapt smoke and flame to batter and burst asunder the postern gate of the fort, and through this ruin I saw Adam leap, sword in hand, his desperate company hard on his heels.

I saw a great galleon spread her sails against the moon, and the red glare of her broadside flame against the town as, squaring her yards, she bore away for the open sea.

I saw the deck of a ship, deserted save for one desolate figure that stood gazing ever in the one direction; and as I watched, eager-eyed, this lonely figure knelt suddenly and reached towards me yearning arms, and I saw this was my beloved Joan. Now would I have leapt to those empty arms, but the smoke blinded me again, and in this smoke I heard the voice of Joanna.

"Oh, Martino, thou that love doth make coward, be comforted and of good courage, for: thy happiness is hers—and mine, yes!"

So I presently waked and, staring about me, started up amazed to see it was dawn and the sun rising already, and beyond the fire the sombre form of Atlamatzin.

"Are the evil spirits fled from my brother?" he questioned.

"Indeed," said I, "I have dreamed wonderfully and to my great comfort."

"Great is the magic of Atlamatzin!" quoth he. "'Tis secret that shall die with him and that soon, for now must he begone to achieve his destiny. As for thee—yonder, a day's journey, lieth the Great Water. May Kukulcan have thee in his care, he that is Father of Life—fare ye well."

But at this, seeing him on his feet, I rose also, to grasp his hand, asking whither he went. For answer he pointed to the trackless wild and then raised his finger to the sun that was flooding the world with his splendour.

"Brother," said Atlamatzin, pointing to this glory, "I go back whence I came, back to Kukulcan that some so call Quetzalcoati, back to the Father of Life!"

So saying, he lifted hand aloft in salutation and turning, strode away due east, so that his form was swallowed up (as it were) in this radiant glory.



CHAPTER XXXII

HOW I FOUND MY BELOVED AT LAST

Left alone, I broke my fast with such food as I had, meanwhile meditating upon the visions of last night, debating within myself if this were indeed a marvel conjured up of Atlamatzin his black magic, or no more than a dream of my own tortured mind, to the which I found no answer, ponder the matter how I might.

None the less I found myself much easier, the haunting fear clean lifted from me; nay, in my heart sang Hope, blithe as any bird, for the which comfort I did not fail humbly to thank God.

I now consulted my compass and decided to bear up more northerly lest I strike too far east and thus overshoot that bay Adam had marked on his chart. So having collected my gear, I took my musket in the crook of my arm and set out accordingly.

Before me was a wild, rolling country that rose, level on level, very thick of brush and thickets so tangled that I must oft win me a path by dint of mine axe. Yet I struggled on as speedily as I might (maugre this arduous labour and the sun's heat) for more than once amid the thousand heavy scents of flower and herb and tree, I thought to catch the sweet, keen tang of the sea.

All this day I strode resolutely forward, scarce pausing to eat or drink, nor will I say more of this day's journey except that the sun was setting as I reached the top of a wooded eminence and, halting suddenly, fell upon my knees and within me such a joy as I had seen the gates of paradise opening to receive me; for there, all glorious with the blaze of sunset, lay the ocean at last. And beholding thus my long and weary journey so nearly ended, and bethinking me how many times God had preserved me and brought me safe through so many dire perils of this most evil country, I bowed my head and strove to tell Him my heart's gratitude. My prayer ended (and most inadequate!) I began to run, my weariness all forgot, the breath of the sea sweet in my nostrils, nor stayed until I might look down on the foaming breakers far below and hear their distant roar.

Long stood I, like one entranced, for from this height I could make out the blue shapes of several islands and beyond these a faint blur upon the horizon, the which added greatly to my comfort and delight, since this I knew must be the opposite shore of Terra Firma or the Main, and this great body of water the Gulf of Darien itself. And so came night.

All next day I followed the coast, keeping the sea upon my left, looking for some such landlocked harbourage with its cliff shaped like a lion's head as Adam had described, yet though I was at great pains (and no small risk to my neck) to peer down into every bay I came upon, nowhere did I discover any such bay or cliff as bore out his description; thus night found me eager to push on, yet something despondent and very weary. So I lighted my fire and ate my supper, harassed by a growing dread lest I was come too far to the east, after all.

And presently up came the moon in glory; indeed, never do I remember seeing it so vivid bright, its radiance flashing back from the waters far below and showing tree and bush and precipitous cliff, very sharp and clear. Upon my left, as I sat, the jagged coast line curved away out to sea, forming thus the lofty headland I had traversed scarce an hour since, that rose sheer from the moon-dappled waters, a huge, shapeless bluff. Now after some while I arose, and seeing the moon so glorious, shouldered my gun, minded to seek a little further before I slept. I had gone thus but a few yards, my gaze now on the difficult path before me, now upon the sea, when, chancing to look towards the bluff I have mentioned, I stopped to stare amazed, for in this little distance, this formless headland, seen from this angle, had suddenly taken a new shape and there before me, plain and manifest, was the rough semblance of a lion's head; and I knew that betwixt it and the high cliff whereon I stood must be Adam's excellent secure haven. This sudden discovery filled me with such an ecstacy that I fell a-trembling, howbeit I began to quest here and there for some place where I might get me down whence I might behold this bay and see if Adam's ship lay therein. And in a little, finding such a place, I began to descend and found it so easy and secure it seemed like some natural stair, and I did not doubt that Adam and his fellows had belike used it as such ere now.

At last I came where I could look down into a narrow bay shut in by these high, bush-girt cliffs and floored with gleaming, silver sand, whose waters, calm and untroubled, mirrored the serene moon, and close under the dense shadows of these cliffs I made out the loom of a great ship. Hereupon I looked no more, but gave all my attention to hands and feet, and so, slipping and stumbling in my eagerness, got me down at last and began running across these silvery sands. But as I approached the ship where she lay now plain in my view, I saw her topmasts were gone, and beholding the ruin of her gear and rigging, I grew cold with sudden dread and came running.

She lay upon an even keel, her forefoot deep-buried in the shifting sand that had silted about her with the tide, and beholding her paint and gilding blackened and scorched by fire, her timbers rent and scarred by shot, I knew this fire-blackened, shattered wreck would never sail again. And now as I viewed this dismal ruin, I prayed this might be some strange ship rather than that I had come so far a-seeking and, so praying, waded out beneath her lofty stern (the tide being low) and, gazing up, read as much of her name as the searing fire had left: viz:

D E L.... A N C E

And hereupon, knowing her indeed for Adam's ship, I took to wandering round about her, gazing idly up at this pitiful ruin, until there rushed upon me the realisation of what all this meant. Adam was dead or prisoner, and my dear lady lost to me after all; my coming was too late.

And now a great sickness took me, my strength deserted me and, groaning, I sank upon the sand and lying thus, yearned amain for death. Then I heard a sound, and lifting heavy head, beheld one who stood upon the bulwark above me, holding on by a backstay with one hand and pistol levelled down at me in the other. And beholding this slender, youthful figure thus outlined against the moon, the velvet coat brave with silver lace, the ruffles at throat and wrist, the silken stockings and buckled shoes, I knew myself surely mad, for this I saw was Joanna—alive and breathing.

"Shoot!" I cried, "Death has reft from me all I loved—shoot!"

"Martin!" cried she, and down came the pistol well-nigh upon me where I lay. "Oh, dear, kind God, 'tis Martin!"

"Joan?" said I, wondering, "Damaris—beloved!"

I was on my feet and, heaving myself up by means of the tangle of gear that hung from the ship's lofty side I sprang upon the deck and fell on my knees to clasp this lovely, trembling youth in my hungry arms, my head bowed against this tender woman's body, lest she see how I wept out of pure joy and thankfulness. But now she raised my head, and thus I saw her weeping also, felt her tears upon my face; and now she was laughing albeit she wept still, her two hands clasping me to her.

"Such a great—fierce—wild man!" she sobbed; and then: "My man!" and stooping, she kissed me on the lips. But as for me, I could but gaze up at her in rapture and never a word to say. Then she was on her knees before me and thus we knelt in each other's fast clasping arms. "Oh, Martin!" said she. "Oh, loved Martin—God hath answered my ceaseless prayers!"

And now when she would have voiced to Him her gratitude, I must needs crush her upon my heart to look down into this flushed and tear-wet face that held for me the beauty of all the world and to kiss away her prayers and breath together, yet even so did she return my kisses.

At last we arose but had gone scarce a step when we were in each other's arms again, to stand thus fast clasped together, for I almost dreaded she might vanish again and feared to let her go.

"We have been parted so cruelly—so often!" said I.

"But never again, my Martin!"

"No, by God!" quoth I fervently. "Not even death—"

"Not even death!" said she.

And thus we remained a great while, wandering to and fro upon the weather-beaten deck, very silent for the most part, being content with each other's nearness and, for myself, merely to behold her loveliness was joy unutterable.

She brought me into Adam's great cabin under the poop, lighted by a great swinging silver lamp, its stern windows carefully shaded, lest any see this betraying beam; and standing amid all the luxury of tapestried hangings and soft carpets, I felt myself mighty strange and out of place; and presently, catching sight of myself in one of the mirrors, I stood all abashed to behold the unlovely object I was in my rough and weather-stained garments, my face burned nigh black by the sun and all set about in a tangle of wild hair and ragged beard.

"Is it so great wonder I should not know you at first, dear Martin, and you so wild and fierce-seeming?"

"Indeed I am an ill spectacle," quoth I; at this, beholding me thus rueful, she fell to kissing me, whereat I did but miscall myself the more, telling her 'twas great marvel she should love one so ill-matched with her; for, said I, "here are you beautiful beyond all women, and here stand I, of manners most uncouth, harsh-featured, slow of tongue, dull-witted, and one you have seldom seen but in sorry rags!"

"Oh, my dearest heart," said she, nestling but closer in my embrace, "here is long catalogue and 'tis for each and every I do love you infinitely more than you do guess, and for this beside—because you are Martin Conisby that I have loved, do love, and shall love always and ever!"

"And there's the marvel!" quoth I, kissing her bowed head.

"And you do think me—very beautiful, Martin?"

"Aye, I do."

"Even clad—in these—these things?" she questioned, not looking at me.

"Aye, truly!"

"I had not meant you to see me thus, Martin, but it was my custom to watch for your coming, and 'twas hard to climb the cliff in petticoats, and besides, since I have been alone, there was so much to do—and it didn't matter."

"Aye, but how came you alone, what of Adam and the rest?"

"Nay, 'tis long story."

"But why are you thus solitary, you that do so fear solitude, as I remember."

"When Adam marched away, I stayed to wait for you, Martin."

"For me?"

"Yes, Martin!"

"Were you not afraid?"

"Often," said she, clasping me tighter, "but you are come at last, so are my fears all past and done. And, more than the loneliness I feared lest you should come and find this poor ship all deserted, and lose hope and faith in God's mercy."

"Oh, my brave, sweet soul!" said I, falling on my knees to kiss her hands. "Oh, God love you for this—had I found you not, I should have dreamed you dead and died myself, cursing God."

"Ah hush," said she, closing my lips with her sweet fingers. "Rather will we bless Him all our days for giving us such a love!"

And now having no will or thought to sleep, she sets about preparing supper, while I with scissors, razors, etc. (that she had brought at my earnest entreaty), began to rid my face of its shaggy hair, and busied with my razor, must needs turn ever and anon for blessed sight of her where she flitted lightly to and fro, she bidding me take heed lest I cut myself. Cut myself I did forthwith, and she, beholding the blood, must come running to staunch it and it no more than a merest nick. And now, seeing her thus tender of me who had endured so many hurts and none to grieve or soothe, I came very near weeping for pure joy.

And now as she bustled to and fro, she fell silent and oft I caught her viewing me wistfully, and once or twice she made as to speak yet did not, and I, guessing what she would say, would have told her, yet could think of no gentle way of breaking the matter, ponder how I might, and in the end blurted out the bald truth, very sudden and fool-like, as you shall hear. For, at last, supper being over (and we having eaten very little and no eyes for our food or aught in the world save each other) my lady questioned me at last.

"Dear Martin, what of my father?"

"Why, first," said I, avoiding her eyes, "he is dead!"

"Yes!" said she faintly, "this I guessed."

"He died nobly like the brave gentleman he was. I buried him in the wilderness, where flowers bloomed, three days march back."

"In the wilderness?" says she a little breathlessly. "But he was in prison!"

"Aye, 'twas there I found him. But we escaped by the unselfish bravery and kindness of Don Federigo. So together we set out to find you."

"Together, Martin?"

"Yes, and he very cheery, despite his sufferings."

"Sufferings, Martin?"

"He—he halted somewhat in his walk—"

"Nay, he was strong, as I remember—ah, you mean they—had tortured him—"

"Aye," said I, dreading to see her grief. "Yet despite their devilish cruelties, he rose triumphant above agony of body, thereby winning to a great and noble manhood, wherefore I loved and honoured him beyond all men—"

"He was—your enemy—"

"He was my friend, that comforted me when I was greatly afraid; he was my companion amid the perils of our cruel journey, calm and undismayed, uncomplaining, brave, and unselfish to his last breath, so needs must I cherish his memory."

"Martin!" Lifting my head I saw she was looking at me, her vivid lips quivering, her eyes all radiant despite their tears, and then, or ever I might prevent, she was kneeling to me, had caught my hand and kissed it passionately.

"Oh, man that I love—you that learned to—love your enemy!"

"Nay, my Damaris, 'twas he that taught me how to love him, 'twas himself slew my hatred!"

And now, drawing her to my heart, I told her much of Sir Richard's indomitable spirit and bravery, how in my blind haste I would march him until he sank swooning by the way, of our fightings and sufferings and he ever serene and undismayed. I told of how we had talked of her beside our camp fires and how, dying, he had bid me tell her he had ever loved her better than he had let her guess, and bethinking me of his letter at last, I gave it to her. But instead of reading it, she put this letter in her pocket.

"Come," said she, "'tis near the dawn, and you weary with your journey, 'tis time you were abed." And when I vowed I was not sleepy, she took my hand (as I had been a child) and bringing me into that had been Adam's cabin, showed me his bed all prepared. "It hath waited for these many weeks, dear Martin!" said she, smoothing the pillows with gentle hand.

"But we have so much to tell each other—"

"To-morrow!"

Hereupon she slipped past me to the door and stood there to shake admonishing finger:

"Sleep!" said she, nodding her lovely head mighty determined, "and scowl not, naughty child, I shall be near you—to—to mother you—nay, come and see for yourself." So saying, she took my hand again and brought me into the next cabin, a fragrant nest, dainty-sweet as herself, save that in the panelling above her bed she had driven two nails where hung a brace of pistols. Seeing my gaze on these, she shivered suddenly and nestled into my arm.

"Oh, Martin," said she, her face hid against me, "one night I seemed to hear a foot that crept on the deck above, and I thought I should have died with fear. So I kept these ever after, one for—them, and the other for myself."

"And all this you endured for my sake!" quoth I.

"And God hath sent you safe to me, dear Martin, to take care of me, so am I safe with nought to fright or harm me henceforth."

"Nothing under heaven," quoth I. Very gingerly she took down the pistols and gave them to me and, bringing me to the door, kissed me.

"Good night, dear heart!" said she softly. "God send you sweet dreams!"

Thus came I back to my cabin and laying by the pistols, got me to bed, and mighty luxurious, what with these sheets and pillows, and yet, or ever I had fully appreciated the unwonted comfort, I was asleep.

I waked to the sudden clasp of her soft arms and a tear-wet cheek against mine, and opening my eyes, saw her kneeling by my bed in the grey dawn.

"Oh, loved Martin," said she, "I love you more than I guessed because you are greater than I dreamed—my father's letter hath told me so much of you—your goodness to your enemy—how you wiped away his tears, ministered to his hurts, carried him in your arms. I have read it but now and—'tis tale so noble—so wonderful, that needs must I come to tell you I do love you so much—so much. And now—"

"You are mine!" said I, gathering her in my arms. "Mine for alway."

"Yes, dear Martin! But because I am yours so utterly, you will be gentle with me—patient a little and forbearing to a—very foolish maid—"

For answer I loosed her, whereupon she caught my hand to press it to her tender cheek, her quivering lips.

"Oh, Martin!" she whispered. "For this needs must I worship thee!" And so was gone.



CHAPTER XXXIII

OF DREAMS

I waked marvellous refreshed and full of a great joy to hear her sweet singing and the light tread of her foot going to and fro in the great cabin, where she was setting out a meal, as I guessed by the tinkle of platters, etc., the which homely sound reminded me that I was vastly hungry. Up I sprang to a glory of sun flooding in at shattered window and the jagged rent where a round-shot had pierced the stout timbering above; and having washed and bathed me as well as I might, found my lady had replaced my ragged, weather-stained garments by others chosen from the ship's stores. And so at last forth I stepped into the great cabin, eager for sight of my dear lady, albeit somewhat conscious of my new clothes and hampered by their tightness.

"Indeed," said she, holding me off, the better to examine me, "I do find you something better-looking than you were!"

"Nay, but I am burned browner than any Indian."

"This but maketh your eyes the bluer, Martin. And then you are changed besides—so much more gentle—kindlier—the man I dreamed you might become—" Here I kissed her.

"And you," said I, "my Damaris that I have ever loved and shall do, you are more beautiful than my dream of you—"

"Am I, Martin—in spite of these things?" "Indeed," said I heartily, "they do but reveal to me so much of—"

Here she kissed me and brought me to the table. Now, seeing her as she sat thus beside me, I started and stared, well-nigh open-mouthed.

"What now?" she questioned.

"Your hair!"

"'Twill grow again, Martin. But why must you stare?"

"Because when you look and turn so, and your hair short on your shoulders, you are marvellously like to Joanna." Now at this, seeing how my lady shrank and turned from me, I could have cursed my foolish tongue.

"What of her, Martin?"

"She is dead!" And here I described how bravely Joanna had met Death standing, and her arms outstretched to the infinite. When I had done, my lady was silent, as expecting more, and her head still averted.

"And is this—all?" she questioned at last.

"Yes!" said I. "Yes!"

"Yet you do not tell me of the cruel wrong she did you—and me! You do not say she lied of you."

"She is dead!" said I. "And very nobly, as I do think!"

Hereupon my lady rose and going into her cabin, was back all in a moment and unfolding a paper, set it before me. "This," said she, "I found after you were fled the ship!" Opening this paper, I saw there, very boldly writ:

"I lied about him and 'twas a notable lie, notably spoke. Martino is not like ordinary men and so it is I do most truly love him—yes—for always. So do I take him for mine now, so shall lie become truth, mayhap.

"JOANNA."

And even as I refolded this letter, my lady's arms were about me, her lovely head upon my shoulder:

"Dear," said she, "'twas like you to speak no harsh thing of the dead. And she gave you back to me with her life—so needs must I love her memory for this."

And so we presently got to our breakfast,—sweet, white bread new-baked, with divers fish she had caught that morning whiles I slept. And surely never was meal more joyous, the sun twinkling on Adam's silver and cut glass, and my lady sweeter and more radiant than the morn in all the vigour of her glowing beauty.

Much we talked and much she said that I would fain set down, since there is nothing about her that is not a joy to me to dwell upon, yet lest I weary my readers with overmuch of lovers' talk, I will only set down all she now told me concerning Adam.

"For here were we, Martin," said my lady, "our poor ship much wounded with her many battles and beset by a storm so that we all gave ourselves up for lost; even Adam confessed he could do no more, and I very woful because I must die away from you, yet the storm drove us by good hap into these waters, and next day, the wind moderating, we began to hope we might make this anchorage, though the ship was dreadfully a-leak, and all night and all day I would hear the dreadful clank of the pumps always at work. And thus at last, to our great rejoicing, we saw this land ahead of us that was to be our salvation. But as we drew nearer our rejoicing changed to dismay to behold three ships betwixt us and this refuge. So Sir Adam decided to fight his way through and sailed down upon these three ships accordingly. And presently we were among them and the battle began, and very dreadful, what with the smoke and shouting and noise of guns—"

"Ah!" cried I. "And did not Adam see you safely below?"

"To be sure, Martin, but I stole up again and found him something hurt by a splinter yet very happy because Godby had shot away one of the enemy's masts and nobody hurt but himself, and so we won past these ships for all their shooting, and I bound up Adam's hurt where he stood conning the ship, shouting orders and bidding me below, all in a breath. But now cometh Amos Marsh, the carpenter, running, to say the enemy's shot had widened our leaks and the water gaining upon the pumps beyond recovery and that we were sinking. 'How long will she last?' said Adam, staring at the two ships that were close behind, and still shooting at us now and then. 'An hour, Captain, maybe less!' said the carpenter. ''Twill serve,' said Adam, in his quiet voice. 'Do you and your lads stand to the pumps, and we will be safe ashore within the hour. But mark me, if any man turn laggard or faint-hearted, shoot that man, but pump your best, Amos—away wi' you!'"

"Aye," quoth I, clasping tighter the hand I held, "that was like Adam; 'tis as I had heard him speak. And you in such dire peril of death, my beloved—"

"Why, Martin, I did not fear or grieve very much, for methought you were lost to me forever in this life perchance, but in the next—"

"This and the next I do pray God," quoth I, and kissed her till she bade me leave her breath for her story. The which she presently did something as followeth:

"And now, whiles Godby and his chosen gunners plied our stern cannons, firing very fast and furious, Adam calls for volunteers to set more sail and himself was first aloft for all his wounded arm—"

"And where were you?"

"Giving water to Godby and his men, for they were parched. And presently back cometh Adam, panting with his exertions. 'God send no spars carry away,' quoth he, 'and we must lay alongside the nearest Spaniard and board.' ''Tis desperate venture,' said Godby, 'they be great ships and full o' Dons.' 'Aye,' said Adam, 'but we are Englishmen and desperate,' And so we stood on, Martin, and these great ships after us, and ever our own poor ship lying lower and lower in the water, until I looked to see it sink under us and go down altogether. But at last we reached this bay and none too soon, for to us cometh Amos Marsh, all wet and woebegone with labour, to say the ship was going. But nothing heeding, Adam took the helm, shouting to him to let fly braces, and with our sails all shivering we ran aground, just as she lies now, poor thing. While I lay half-stunned with the fall, for the shock of grounding had thrown me down, Adam commanded every one on shore with muskets and pistols, so I presently found myself running across the sands 'twixt Adam and Godby, nor stayed we till we reached the cliff yonder, where are many caves very wonderful, as I will show you, Martin. And then I saw the reason of this haste, for the greatest Spanish ship was turning to bring her whole broadside to bear, and so began to shoot off all their cannon, battering our poor ship as you see. Then came Spaniards in boats with fire to burn it, but our men shot so many of these that although they set the ship on fire, yet they did it so hastily because of our shooting that once they were gone, the fire was quickly put out. But the ship was beyond repair which greatly disheartened us all, save only Adam, who having walked around the wreck and examined her, chin in hand, summoned all men to a council on the beach. 'Look now, my comrades,' said he (as well as I remember, Martin), 'we have fought a sinking ship so long as we might, and here we lie driven ashore in a hostile country but we have only one killed and five injured, which is good; but we are Englishmen, which is better and bad to beat. Well, then, shall we stay here sucking our thumbs? Shall we set about building another vessel and the enemy come upon us before 'tis done? Shall we despair? Not us! We stand a hundred and thirty and two men, and every man a proved and seasoned fighter; so will we, being smitten thus, forthwith smite back, and smite where the enemy will least expect. We'll march overland on Carthagena—I know it well—fall on 'em in the dead hush o' night, surprise their fort, spike their guns and down to the harbour for a ship. Here's our vessel a wreck—we'll have one of theirs in place. So, comrades all, who's for Carthagena along with me; who's for a Spanish ship and Old England?'"

"Why, then," cried I, amazed, "my dream was true. They have marched across country on Carthagena—"

"Yes, Martin, but what dream—?"

"With four guns, mounted on wheels?"

"Yes, Martin; they built four gun-carriages to Adam's design. But what of your dream?"

So I told her of Atlamatzin and the visions I had beheld; "and I saw you also, my loved Joan; aye, as I do remember, you knelt on the deck above, praying and with your arms reached out—"

"Why, so I did often—one night in especial, I remember, weeping and calling to you, for I was very fearful and—lonely, dear Martin. And that night, I remember, I dreamed I saw you, your back leaned to a great rock as you were very weary, and staring into a fire, sad-eyed and desolate. Across your knees was your gun and all around you a dark and dismal forest, and I yearned to come to you and could not, and so watched and lay to weep anew.—Oh, dear, loved Martin!"

Here she turned, her eyes dark with remembered sorrow, wherefore I took and lifted her to my knee, holding her thus close upon my heart.

"Tell me," said I after some while, "when Adam marched on his desperate venture, did he name any day for his likely return?"

"Yes, Martin!"

"And when was that?"

"'Twas the day you came."

"Then he is already late," quoth I. "And he was ever mighty careful and exact in his calculations. 'Tis an adventure so daring as few would have attempted, saving only our 'timid' Adam. And how if he never returns, my Damaris—how then?"

"Ah, then—we have each other!" said she.

"And therein is vast comfort and—for me great joy!" quoth I.



CHAPTER XXXIV

OF LOVE

My first care was to see how we stood in regard to stores, more especially powder and shot great and small, the which I found sufficient and to spare, as also divers weapons, as muskets, pistols, hangers, etc. The more I thought, the more I was determined to put the ship into as good a posture of defence as might be, since I judged it likely the Spaniards might pay us a visit soon or late, or mayhap some chance band of hostile Indians. To this end and with great exertion, by means of lever and tackle, I hauled inboard her four great stern-chase guns, at the which labour my lady chancing to find me, falls to work beside me right merrily.

"Why, Martin," said she, when the four pieces stood ready to hand, "I have seen five men strain hard to move one of these; indeed you must be marvellous strong."

At this I grew so foolishly pleased that I fell to charging these pieces amain, lest she should see aught of this.

"Strong, great men be usually the gentlest," said she.

"And generally thick-skulled and dull-witted!" quoth I.

"Are you so dull-witted, my Martin?"

"Ah, Damaris, my sweet Joan, when I think on all the wasted tears—"

"Not wasted, Martin, no, not one, since each hath but helped to make the man I do so love."

"That you should so love me is the abiding wonder. I am no man o' the world and with no fine-gentlemanly graces, alas! I am a simple fellow and nought to show for his years of life—"

"Wherefore so humble, poor man? You that were so proud and savage in England and must burst open gates and beat my servants and fright me in my chamber—"

"Aye, I was brute indeed!" said I, sitting down and clean forgetting my guns in sudden dejection.

"And so gloomy with me on the island at the first and then something harsh, and then very wild and masterful; do you remember you would kiss me and I would not—and struggled—so desperately—and vainly—and was compelled?"

"Oh, vile!" said I. "You so lonely and helpless, and I would have forced you to my base will."

"And did not, Martin! Because yours was a noble love. So is the memory of our dear island unutterably sweet."

"Indeed and is this so?" quoth I, lifting my head.

"Beyond all expression!" said she a little breathlessly and her eyes very bright. "Ah, did you not know—whatever you did, 'twas you—that I loved. And, dear Martin, at your fiercest, you were ever—so innocent!"

"Innocent!" quoth I, wondering. And now her clear gaze wavered, her cheek flushed, and all in a moment she was beside me on her knees, her face hid against me and speaking quick and low and passionate.

"I am a very woman—and had loved for all my life—and there were times—on the island when—I, too—oh, dear Martin, oft in the night the sound of your steps going to and fro without our cave—those restless feet—seemed to tread upon my heart! I loved these fierce, strong arms, even whilst I struggled in their hold! A man of the world would have known—taken advantage. But you never guessed because you regarded ever the highest in me. So would I have you do still—honouring me with your patience—a little longer—until Adam be come again, or until we be sure he hath perished and England beyond our reach. Thus, dear, I have confessed my very secret soul to thee and lie here in thy merciful care even more than I did on our island, since I do love thee—greatly better! Therefore, be not so—infinite humble!"

Here for a while I was silent, being greatly moved and finding no word to say. At last, clasping her tender loveliness to me, and stooping to kiss this so loved head:

"Dear, my lady," said I, "thou art to me the sweetest, holiest thing in all the world, and so shalt thou ever be."

Some time after, having put all things in excellent posture to our defence, viz: our four great pieces full-charged astern, with four lighter guns and divers pateraros ranged to sweep the quarter-deck, forecastle and all approaches thereto, I felt my previous charge more secure and myself (seconded by her brave spirit) able to withstand well-nigh any chance attack, so long as our powder and shot held.

This done, I brought hammer, nails, etc., from the carpenter's stores and set myself to mend such shot-holes, cracks, and rents in the panelling and the like as I judged would incommode us in wind or rain, and while I did this (and whistling cheerily) needs must I stay ever and anon to watch my sweet soul busy at her cookery (and mighty savoury dishes) and she pause to look on me, until we must needs run to kiss each other and so to our several labours again.

For now indeed came I to know a happiness so calm and deep, so much greater than I had ventured to hope that often I would be seized of panic dread lest aught came to snatch it from me. Thus lived we, joying in each hour, busied with such daily duties as came to hand, yet I for one finding these labours sweet by reason of her that shared them; yet ever our love grew and we ever more happy in each other's companionship.

And here I, that by mine own folly of stubborn pride had known so little of content and the deep and restful joy of it; here, I say, greatly tempted am I to dwell and enlarge upon these swift-flying, halcyon days whose memory Time cannot wither; I would paint you her changing moods, her sweet gravity, her tender seriousness, her pretty rogueries, her demureness, her thousand winsome tricks of gesture and expression, the vital ring of her sweet voice, her long-lashed eyes, the dimple in her chin, and all the constant charm and wonder of her. But what pen could do the sweet soul justice, what word describe her innumerable graces? Surely not mine, so would it be but vain labour and mayhap, to you who take up this book, great weariness to read.

So I will pass to a certain night, the moon flooding her radiance all about me and the world very hushed and still with nought to hear save the murmurous ripple and soft lapping of the incoming tide, and I upon my bed (very wakeful) and full of speculation and the problem I pondered this: Adam (and he so precise and exact in all things) had named to my lady a day for his return, which day was already long past, therefore it was but natural to suppose his desperate venture against this great fortified city a failure, his hardy fellows scattered, and his brave self either slain or a prisoner. What then of our situation, my dear lady's and mine, left thus solitary in a hostile country and little or no chance of ever reaching England, but doomed rather to seek some solitude where we might live secure from hostile Indians or the implacable persecution of the Spaniards. Thus we must live alone with Nature henceforth, she and I and God. And this thought filled me alternately with intoxicating joy for my own sake, since all I sought of life was this loved woman, and despair for her sake, since secretly she must crave all those refinements of life and civilisation as had become of none account to myself. And if Adam were slain indeed and England thus beyond our reach, how long must we wait to be sure of this?

Here I started to hear my lady calling me softly:

"Art awake, dear Martin?"

"Yes, my Joan!"

"I dreamed myself alone again. Oh, 'tis good to hear your voice! Are you sleepy?"

"No whit."

"Then let us talk awhile as we used sometimes on our loved island."

"Loved you it—so greatly, Joan?"

"Beyond any place in the world, Martin."

"Why, then—" said I and stopped, lest my voice should betray the sudden joy that filled me.

"Go on, Martin."

"'Twas nought."

"Aye, but it was! You said 'Why, then.' Prithee, dear sir, continue."

Myself (sitting up and blinking at the moon): Why, then, if you—we—are—if we should be so unfortunate as to be left solitary in these cruel wilds and no hope of winning back to England, should you grieve therefor?

She (after a moment): Should you, Martin?

Myself (mighty fervently): Aye, indeed!

She (quickly): Why, Martin—pray why?

Myself (clenching my fists): For that we should be miserable outcasts cut off from all the best of life.

She: The best? As what, Martin?

Myself: Civilisation and all its refinements, all neighbourliness, the comforts of friendship, all security, all laws, and instead of these—dangers, hardship, and solitude.

She (softly): Aye, this methinks should break our hearts. Indeed, Martin, you do fright me.

Myself (bitterly): Why, 'tis a something desolate possibility!

She (dolefully): And alas, Adam cometh not!

Myself: Alas, no!

She: And is long overdue.

Myself: He marched on a perilous venture; aye, mighty hazardous and desperate.

She: Indeed, dear Martin, so desperate that I do almost pity the folk of Carthagena.

Myself (wondering): Then you do think he will succeed—will come sailing back one day?

She: Yes, Martin, if he hath to sail the ship back alone.

Myself: And wherefore believe this?

She: I know not, except that he is Adam and none like to him.

Myself: Yet is he only mortal, to be captured or slain one way or another. How if he cometh never back?

She: Why then, Martin—needs must I forego all thought of England, of home, of the comfortable joys of civilisation, of all laws, and instead of all these cleave to you—my beloved!

Myself: Damaris!

She: Oh, Martin, dear, foolish blunderer to dream you could fright me with tales of hardship, or dangers, or solitude when you were by, to think I must break my heart for home and England when you are both to me. England or home without you were a desert; with you the desert shall be my England, my home all my days, if God so will it.

Myself: Oh, loved woman, my brave, sweet Joan! And the laws—what of the laws?

She: God shall be our law, shall give us some sign.

Myself: Joan—come to me!

She (faintly): No! Ah, no!

Myself: Come!

She: Very well, Martin.

In a little I heard her light step, slow and something hesitant, and then she stood before me in her loveliness, wrapped about in my travel-stained boat-cloak; so came she to sink beside me on her knees.

"I am here, Martin," said she, "since I am yours and because I know my will, thine also. For sure am I that Adam will yet come and with him cometh law and England and all else; shall we not rest then for God's sign, be it soon or a little late, and I honour thee the more hereafter. If this indeed be foolish scruple to your mind, dear Martin, I am here; but if for this you shall one day reverence your wife the more—beloved, let me go!"

"Indeed—indeed, sign or no sign, thus do I love thee!" said I, and loosed her. And now, as she rose from my reluctant arms, even then, soft and faint with distance but plain and unmistakable came the boom of a gun.



CHAPTER XXXV

THE COMING OF ADAM AND OF OUR GREAT JOY THEREIN

The moon was paling to daybreak as, having climbed that rocky stair I have mentioned, we came upon the cliff and stood, hands tight-clasped, where we might behold the infinity of waters; and after some while, looming phantom-like upon the dawn, we descried the lofty sails of a great ship standing in towards the land and growing ever more distinct. And as we watched, and never a word, her towering canvas flushed rosy with coming day, a changing colour that grew ever brighter until it glowed all glorious, and up rose the sun.

Suddenly, as we watched the proud oncoming of this ship of glory, my lady uttered a little, soft cry and nestled to me.

"The sign, Martin!" cried she, "God hath sent us the sign, beloved; see what she beareth at the main!" And there, sure enough, stirring languid upon the gentle air was the Cross of St. George. And beholding this thing (that was no more than shred of bunting) and in these hostile seas, ship and sea swam upon my vision, and bowing my head lest my beloved behold this weakness, felt her warm lips on mine.

"Dear Martin," said she, "hide not your tears from me, for yonder is England, a noble future—home, at last."

"Home?" said I, "Aye, home and peace at last and, best of all—you!" Thus stood we, clean forgetting this great ship in each other until, roused by the thunder of another gun, we started and turned to see the ship so near that we could distinguish the glint of armour on her decks here and there, and presently up to us rose a cheer (though faint) and we saw them make a waft with the ensign, so that it seemed they had discovered us where we stood. Hereupon, seeing the ship already going about to fetch into the harbour, we descended the cliff and, reaching the sands below, stood there until the vessel hove into view round the headland that was like unto a lion's head, and, furling upper and lower courses, let go her anchor and brought up in fashion very seamanlike, and she indeed a great and noble vessel from whose lofty decks rose lusty shouts of welcome, drowned all at once in the silvery fanfare of trumpets and a prodigious rolling of drums. Presently, to this merry clamour, a boat was lowered and pulled towards us, and surely never was seen a wilder, more ragged company than this that manned her. In the stem-sheets sat Adam, one hand upon the tiller, the other slung about him by a scarf, his harness rusty and dinted, but his eyes very bright beneath the pent of his weather-beaten hat. Scarce had the boat touched shore than his legs (dight in prodigiously long Spanish boots) were over the side and he came wading ashore, first of any.