by G. A. Henty
Mistress Mercy did not succeed in extracting the information she desired from her husband, who was, however, forced to fall back upon the defense that he had his reasons, but that he was pledged to say nothing concerning them.
“Pledged!” she replied, scornfully. “And to whom are you pledged, I should like to know? I thought you were pledged to me, and that you were bound to cherish and comfort me; which means, of course, that you were to have no secrets from me, and to tell me all that I desire to know.”
But though Diggory kept the secret, albeit with much trouble; and with many misgivings as to what would happen in the future, when his wife came to learn of the important venture he had undertaken, without consulting her; she nevertheless succeeded so far that, in order to pacify her, he was obliged to allow her a free hand in choosing, from his magazines, such pieces of cloth and silk for herself and the girls as she had a fancy to. This permission she did not abuse as to quality, for she knew well enough what was becoming, in the way of dress, for the wife of a merchant; and that it was not seemly, for such a one, to attire herself in apparel suited for the wives of nobles, and ladies of the Court. But Diggory groaned in spirit, although he prudently said nothing, at seeing that she took advantage of the present position to carry off a store which would amply suffice, for at least two or three years’ wearing, for herself and the girls.
“You have done me a parlous ill turn, Cousin Reuben,” he said sadly to his cousin, “by bidding me hide this matter from my wife. A few more such secrets, and I should be a ruined man. Never before have I known her seized with a desire for such prodigality of vesture. I have looked upon her, all these years, as a sober and discreet woman, well content to wear what was quiet and becoming to her station; but now—truly my heart melted when I saw how she fingered the goods, and desired John, my assistant, to cut off such lengths as she desired from some of my goodliest cloths.”
“Tut, tut, cousin; you exaggerate things greatly. It is no wonder that Mistress Mercy, seeing that you are flourishing greatly in trade, and able to spend your money freely, should deem it but fitting that she, as your wife, should make a braver show than heretofore. Besides, the girls are growing up, and need to be a little bright and gay. Why, man, there are many London citizens, who could not count their broad pieces with you, whose wives spend many times as much, every year, on their attire as Mistress Mercy has cost you now.”
“Well, well, Reuben, there may be something in what you say; but no more secrets, or there is no saying what wild extravagance she might take in her head, next time. She might quarrel with the house and insist upon a new one, furnished from top to bottom; or set her heart on a coach, with running footmen. No, no more secrets, or I shall be having her so set herself up that I shall be no more master of my own house.”
Roger was plied with many questions by his cousins, who tried alternately coaxing, and pouting, to learn from him why it was that, as all told them, preparations were being made for the voyage of the Swan such as were unknown, before, at Plymouth. All he could reply was that the ship was only being victualed as all ships ought to be whose owners cared, as they should do, for the comfort and health of their crews. More than that he could not say. He would not deny that he had certain ideas of his own as to the voyage; but if Cousin Diggory and his father thought it well to make no talk about the matter, it was not for him to say what were his thoughts about it.
“But we would tell nobody,” Dorothy urged. “Don’t you think we could keep a secret, as well as you can?”
“That is just it, Cousin Dorothy! Don’t you see, if I were to tell you, it would be a proof that I could not keep a secret? And then, if you told it, I could not blame you for blabbing. I don’t say there is any secret; but if there is, I must keep it.”
“I know that you are going into danger, Reuben; else you would not have all those great guns they say there are, on board.”
“The great guns will keep us out of danger, you see. The more guns, the less danger.”
“Come away, Agnes,” Dorothy said, with an assumption of stateliness. “Cousin Roger is altogether too smart for us. Let him keep his secrets, if he will; and let us go and help mother with her sewing.”
And so, for the last two or three days before the Swan sailed, there was a coolness between Roger and the girls, as well as between Diggory Beggs and his wife.
At last the day came when everything was complete, the water casks filled, and the last packet and bale stored away in the hold; and even Reuben Hawkshaw admitted that there was nothing else that he could think of, requisite either for the safety or navigation of the ship, or the provisioning or health of the crew.
The order was passed round for all the old hands to be aboard before sunset, that evening, together with those who had been openly engaged to fill up the vacancies. As for the rest, the twelve recruiters each received private orders. Three of them were to bring down the men they had engaged to the wharf, abreast of the Swan, at eight o’clock; and to go off in the boat which would be awaiting them there, under charge of Master Standing. Three others were to come half an hour later. The other six were to bring down their men at daybreak—so that all would get on board unnoticed.
The last meal at Master Diggory’s was but a dull one. The subject of the Swan and her voyage had, by common consent, been dropped altogether for the last day or two; and it was not until supper was over that Mistress Mercy, and the girls, knew that the hour of sailing was at hand. Then Reuben spoke up:
“We go on board tonight, Cousin Mercy, and shall get up our anchor and loose our sails the first thing in the morning. I know that you have been somewhat aggrieved, at not learning more about our intentions; but it was not Cousin Diggory’s fault that you have not been told.”
“I do not seek to pry into matters which my husband thinks fit to conceal from me,” she said, coldly.
“Nevertheless, cousin, you are hurt; and I cannot blame you, seeing that it is natural that a woman should like to know what is passing around her. But I wish, before I go, that you should see that Diggory is not to blame in this matter. There is no harm in my telling you, now, that he stands not alone in this venture, but that others have joined with him. Now he himself, knowing you to be a circumspect woman, who could be trusted to keep to yourself anything that you might learn, would willingly have taken you into our councils; but all women are not so discreet, and matters which it is very important should be kept secret might have leaked out, had it not been proposed that all concerned in the matter should bind themselves solemnly to each other, to say no words about it, even to their wives; and thus, you see, Diggory’s lips have been sealed, and that not by any mistrust of you.
“It may be some time before it will be prudent for the truth about this voyage to be known, but in good time those concerned may think fit to relieve each other of this agreement they have entered upon, and to let their wives, and others who may be depended upon, into the secret. I wanted to tell you this before we sailed, for I should not like to go away feeling that you cherished aught of malice against me; for I have seen for some time that you have held me, as well as your husband, to blame. We are going on a long voyage, Cousin Mercy, and one from which it may well be that none of us will ever return to this good town of Plymouth. I am somewhat breaking my promise in saying this, and I rely upon you, and the girls, repeating it to no one. It is a long and venturous journey, and one not without much peril; but if it succeeds, it will bring much honor, as well as wealth, to all concerned.
“And now, Cousin Mercy, as I have told you so much as that, I trust that we may part as we have always parted, in friendly and kindly fashion. You and your husband have been good friends to me and my boy, and have gone in that matter far beyond the ordinary bounds of kinship; and I should not like to start upon this voyage knowing that there was a cloud between us.”
Mistress Mercy rose from her seat, walked round to Reuben Hawkshaw, and kissed him.
“Forgive me, Cousin Reuben,” she said
, “for my cross looks and shrewish ways. I see that I have acted altogether wrongly in the matter, and that neither you nor Diggory are to blame. I knew not that others were concerned, and thought that a mystery was being made because it was considered that, did I know it, I should run out and blab it in the streets of Plymouth. Now I know how it is, I am well content as to that; but not so, at the thought of this unknown peril into which you are about to run, and I wonder that Diggory should adventure your life, and that of Roger, upon such an expedition.”
“It is my own proposal, Cousin Mercy, and Diggory has but yielded to my wishes. Roger is as hot for the adventure as I am, and we are both content to run what risks we may encounter, for the honor which we shall gain if we return safely home.
“And now, Roger, let us be going. Leave takings are sad things, and the shorter they are made, the better.”
While these words had been said the girls, who sat on either side of Roger, were silently making their peace with him, by furtive squeezes of his hands below the table; and they burst into tears, as Roger and his father rose.
“Goodbye, Agnes,” Roger said.
“Goodbye, Dorothy,” and as he kissed her he whispered, “if I return, I will bring you the prettiest trinkets ever seen in Plymouth.”
“Bring back yourself, Roger, and I shall be more than content,” she replied.
In another minute they were gone, Diggory Beggs taking his hat and starting with them; telling his wife that he should not return until morning, as he should go on board the Swan with them, and remain until she sailed.
“You will not go before daybreak, Cousin Reuben?” Mistress Mercy asked.
“No; it will more likely be an hour after sunrise before we weigh anchor.”
“Then I and the girls will be down on the wharf, to see the last of you and wave our kerchiefs, and wish you a pleasant voyage and a safe return.”
CHAPTER 3
The Voyage
Great was the surprise of the original crew of the Swan, when boat load after boat load of fresh hands arrived. They themselves had been quietly told that the voyage was likely to be one of unusual length, and that none save those willing and ready to stay away, as long as might be required, were to sail in the Swan on her present venture. There was, therefore, a general idea current among them that Master Hawkshaw had some adventure quite out of the ordinary in his mind; and the news that some heavy guns had arrived from London for her, had confirmed their opinion as to the voyage.
“Let us have no loud talk, tonight,” Reuben Hawkshaw ordered. “When we get our sails spread tomorrow, and are well out of port, you can talk to your hearts’ content; but the night is still, and I want not that attention of any on shore should be called to the ship. There has been more foolish talk than enough about her already; so turn in to rest, lads, without ado. The boatswain will serve you each out a pottle of cider, such as you never drank on board ship before, I warrant me, and which is a sample of what you will have, all the voyage. When you have tossed that off, let each lie down as he can find space. We will divide into watches, and settle as to each man’s place, tomorrow.
“Pengarvan, set four hands aside to go on shore, with the boat, an hour before daybreak. Tell them off to sleep where you can lay hands upon them, easily. Keep the boat alongside, and make off to the wharf as noiselessly as you can; but I shall be on deck, then, and will give you further orders.”
The second mate only replied, “Ay, ay, Captain Hawkshaw,” for he was a man of but few words.
Reuben Hawkshaw was not fond of Cornishmen, but he made an exception in the case of Pengarvan—indeed, although their borders joined, there was little liking among Cornish and Devon men for each other.
“They are black, ill-conditioned dogs,” Reuben Hawkshaw would say; “good sailors, I own; none better; but glum and surly in their ways, and with nothing joyous in their natures. It seems to me that working in the darkness—in those holes of theirs, underground—has infected the spirits of the whole county; as it might well do, seeing that, as everyone knows, there are little people who guard the treasures of the mines; and who, if they cannot do bodily hurt to those who delve for metals, can yet infect their spirits with a black melancholy, and do them other grievous harm.
“So when Pengarvan came to me as a boy, on the quay here, and asked me to take him with me to sea, I did not much like doing so; for I saw at once, by his speech, that he was Cornish; but I did not like to turn him away, for he said that he was willing, and accustomed to the sea. So I gave him a trial, and he has turned out a first-rate sailor. He is chary of speech, and not given to jest or laughter; but he is always quick, and willing to obey orders; taking whatever comes in good part, and bearing himself just the same, in storm, as in sunshine.
“I know naught of his history. The Swan has been his home since he first came on board, twelve years ago. As long as she is afloat, he never leaves her. When she is laid down for repairs, he takes the nearest lodging on hand, and abides there till she is afloat again. I believe that he comes from Fowey, and guess that he got into some trouble or other, and had to run for it. But that’s nothing to me. I want no better man; and know that, whatever comes, I can rely upon Pengarvan to stand by me, and the ship, to the last.”
If the men were astonished at the thirty new hands who came on board on the previous evening, they were still more astonished when as many more embarked in the morning. The newcomers were ordered to keep in the forecastle, and in the quarters under it, until the Swan was well away from land.
“There will be a good many eyes turned on the ship, as soon as we are seen to be shaking out our canvas,” Reuben said; “and there is no need to set their tongues wagging, by showing more men on deck than we usually carry.”
The captain and Diggory Beggs talked late on into the night. They went over all the ground again; and Reuben brought out the map of the islands, and showed where he intended to touch.
“I think not to do much trading there,” he said. “There is gold in Hispaniola and Cuba; but the captain I got the chart from said there was no very great store there, and that the natives had but little of it when the Spaniards first arrived; seeing that it took trouble and labor to obtain, and they are by nature altogether averse to hard work, and moreover place but little value on the gold. But there were rumors among them that, farther west, there was a land where gold was in great plenty; and where there was a powerful people, dressed in gay attire, and wearing great bracelets and necklaces of gold.
“So far, the Spaniards have not found this land; though they have sailed down the coast a long way to the south, and northward as far as the point that Master Cabot reached, when he sailed down from Newfoundland; but due west they have never sailed far, and have found the sea ever stretching away in front of them; so that it is clear that either the great mainland is split in two at this point, or there is a vast bay. This I shall try to discover, and if we find these people of whom the Indians speak, we may well return loaded down with gold.
“My advice to you, Cousin Diggory, is that you and your partners should continue to keep silent as to this voyage of ours. If we come not back, and after a time there is a talk here that we have gone to the Indies, the news may be carried to London; and you may be questioned, and may be blamed mightily for undertaking such an adventure, without the king’s permission; and all sorts of harm may fall upon you. Success would, in my mind, altogether excuse you; and you will be able to offer so great a present to the king that he will be mighty contented. But if you fail, it will be otherwise. Therefore my advice is, till the Swan is anchored in the port say nothing about her. It were best, from the moment we sail, to write off all that has been spent upon her as money lost, just the same as if you knew for certain that she had gone down as soon as she was out of sight of land.
“Folks will ask you what has become of her, and you will truly say that you have had no news; and when months pass on, and she comes not, you will shake your head, and say that you begin to fear t
hat evil has befallen her. She may have gone down in a storm, or been cast on some rocky coast and all perished, or been captured by pirates.
“If the friends of the sailors make a stir, and go to the magistrates, you have but to show the copy of the letter of instructions which we drew up the other day, laying it down that I was to make for the African Straits, and to put into no Portuguese or Spanish port by the way; that I was then to shape my course for the island of Malta, and to take in fresh stores of food and water there; then that I was to pass round the southernmost point of Greece, and sail upwards to Constantinople, and there to dispose of such portion of my cargo as I could sell at good profit, buying goods suited for our market with the monies I received; and if my hold was full I was then to return straight to England; but if I had still some of my cargo unsold, I could trade as best seemed to me among the Eastern Islands, and with the ports of Asia.
“There would be your instructions to show, and as it is notorious to all that you provisioned the ship in the best manner possible, and laid in greater stores than ordinary of all things necessary for the voyage, none can hold you to blame, in any way, if the chances of the seas have proved too masterful for us, and the Swan returns no more.
“Should we carry out our enterprise to the fullest, and gain great store of gold, I shall, if it is possible, come not directly home, but to some port—maybe in Ireland, maybe in the Low Countries—whence we can send word to you. Upon hearing of our coming there, I should advise you and your fellow adventurers to journey straight to London, to gain audience with one of the ministers, and tell him you have a matter of great importance to communicate to the king himself; and that you should then lay before his majesty an account of what you have done, and pray him to pardon your boldness, which was due to your desire for the honor of the country as much as to wish for profit, and beg him to accept such share of the gold as you may think fit. I shall, of course, when I write let you know about what weight of the metal I have on board. In that way, when the ship comes into port all will be smooth sailing for you; whereas if I come unannounced, there is no saying what share of your profits his majesty may think fit to take.”