Читать книгу Carried Off - Stuart Esmè - Страница 7

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How long he lay there, Harry never could recollect afterwards, but feeling a chilliness creeping over him he suddenly remembered his duty. He must make haste, for the sun was setting, and if White Star did not seem to be better she must be led home from the damp marsh meadows that bordered the water. Though Harry was feeling intensely sad, he had a secret feeling of satisfaction at having conquered in a very hard struggle, and this perhaps made him look more at the things he was passing than, as he was wont to do, at the distant sea. This evening everything was calm and quiet, both on the darkening waters and on the green meadows. Harry noted a gate that needed repairing, and made up his mind to tell his father that it must be seen to, or the cattle would be straying; then he glanced at the little cart-horse foal that promised to be a rival of its mother. The Pitsea Farm cart-horses were deservedly famous, and Harry's father, George Fenn, was as good a breeder of horses as he was a staunch Churchman and opposed to the Puritan element only now quieting down.

At last Harry reached the meadow where White Star was grazing and where some thirty sheep were sharing the pasture. He went up to examine the gentle creature, and she knew well enough the young master's voice and touch, so that she hardly stopped chewing the cud to give him a kindly stare.

'White Star seems not so bad,' thought Harry. 'I'll tell father to give her another day in the meadow, she is not too ill to enjoy this sweet grass.'

Harry had been so much engaged in attending to White Star that he did not hear the soft splash of some oars at the bottom of the meadow he was in, nor did he see that four strong, rough-looking men in seafaring attire had quietly moored their long-boat to an old willow stump, and that two of them were hastily scanning the sheep and cattle that were only a few yards away.

'Zounds!' muttered the first who stepped up the bank, 'what have we here? a lad in this very field. I'faith, I saw no one from the creek.'

'A mere sapling,' laughed the other, 'take no heed of him, and he will soon take to his heels at the sight of us. Now, quick's the word, the captain is impatient to be off with the tide.'

In another instant the men had begun their work. They had come for the purpose of carrying off some sheep and cattle, and having waited till this late hour they had not expected to find a witness to their robbery. Quietly and stealthily as they had landed, however, their intentions could not be carried out without some disturbance, and Harry was first made aware of their presence by the sudden helter-skelter of the sheep and the immediate curiosity expressed by poor White Star, whose evening meal was to be so violently disturbed.

In a moment more Harry had seized the situation, which indeed it was not difficult to do, as he now beheld one of his father's sheep suddenly captured by the clever expedient of an extemporised lasso, and when the poor animal had been dragged towards its captor the robber made short work of tying his victim's legs together, and leaving it to bleat beside him whilst he proceeded to capture another in the same manner, before dragging them to the long-boat.

All the fierce courage of the hardy yeoman's son rose to its height as he beheld this daring robbery carried on under his very eyes. Nay, when the strongest and foremost man began unconcernedly to make his way towards White Star herself, the boy's indignation knew no bounds.

'How now?' he cried indignantly. 'What do you mean, you rascals, by coming here? this is our field and our cattle; away at once, and unloose the sheep, or, by'r laykin! it will be worse for you. I will call for help, and you will soon be treated in such a manner as you deserve.'

This fierce speech had not, however, the desired effect. The man laughed ironically as if Harry were a mere baby, and approaching White Star he swiftly threw the lasso over the animal's sleek head.

'Out of the way, young blusterer, or it will be the worse for thee. Our master, the captain, requires these cattle to victual our ship before sailing; come, off with thee! and don't halloo all the breath out of thy body.'

But Harry's blood was up. Enraged at the man's daring and effrontery, he seized a stout stick from the hedge-row and sprang upon the intruder with the fury of a young lion. He never considered the inequality of the struggle or the folly of his engaging single-handed with a ruffian of this description; he only thought of saving his father's property and avenging the insult. Nor were his well-directed blows mere make-believe, and as the man before him was suddenly aware of a sharp stinging pain across his forehead, he let go the lasso and sprang on to the boy with a fierce oath.

"HARRY'S BLOOD WAS UP"

'What, you young viper, you dare to strike me? Well, take that. Here, Jim, this way, bring the rope here; I'll teach this churl to bethump me.'

As he spoke he wrenched away poor Harry's stick, and with a well-directed blow he laid the boy on the ground. Harry felt a terrible pain in his head, his brain seemed to reel; bright, blood-red flashes blotted out the familiar fields, and then with a groan of pain he stretched out his right arm to grasp at some support, after which he remembered no more.

The man appealed to as Jim had now run up, and laughed as he saw Harry fall insensible on the dewy grass.

'Bravo! the lad fell in fair fight, Joseph; but i'fecks! who would have thought of seeing you engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with such a stripling? Hast done for him, comrade?' he added with curiosity, in which was mingled neither pity nor fear. And yet the sight of Harry Fenn might have softened even a hard heart, one would have thought, as he lay there in the twilight on the dewy grass, whilst a slow trickling line of red blood fell from his forehead over his fair curling hair.

'Here, make haste,' said the first man, whom his friend addressed as Coxon, 'the captain's orders were that we must lose no time; there'll be several more trips this evening, and he means to run down the Channel before morning.'

'Then we'd best not leave the lad here. What say you, Coxon, shall I despatch him for fear of his waking up and telling tales before we return?'

Coxon looked down on the brave lad, and decided, he knew not why, to act more mercifully.

'Let him be, or wait--tie his legs and throw him in the long-boat; on our ship he'll tell no tales, and when we cast anchor we can drop him somewhere, or give him a seaman's burial if he's dead, for, to tell the truth, it was a good whack that I dealt him. Now, Jim, quick, for fear some of those land dolts come down upon us, and deafen us with their complaints.'

After this quick certainly was the word. Harry was tied, much after the fashion of his own sheep, and cast with little ceremony into the long-boat; further booty was secured, till no more could be carried during this trip, and then, as silently as it had come, the boat was rowed swiftly down the creek till they reached their destination, namely, the good ship 'Scorpion,' a privateer bound for the West Indies, after having lately made a very successful bargain with the cargo it had safely brought home.

How long Harry remained unconscious he never knew: when he came to himself it was some time before he could collect any sequence in his thoughts. He felt, however, that he was in a cramped and confined place, and so put out his hands to make more room, as it were, for his limbs; but he could give no explanation to himself of his whereabouts, though he half realised that the night air was blowing in his face, and that something like sea spray now and then seemed to be dashed on his head. His hands were free, but what of his legs? He experienced a sharp cutting pain above his ankles, and with some difficulty he reached down to the seat of pain with one of his hands. Yes, there was a rope tied round his legs; who had done this, and where was he? He remembered standing on Hæsten's mound looking longingly at the sea, and he also recalled Mr. Aylett's words and his own fierce struggle against his strong inclinations, and then--what had followed?

Here for a long time his mind remained a blank, till a decided lurch forced the conviction upon him that he was certainly in a ship, not on the green marsh meadow at home.

Home! He must make haste and get home; his father would wonder what kept him so long, it was quite dark; how anxious his fond mother would be. He must at once get rid of that horrid thing that prevented his rising, and he must run as fast as he could back to Pitsea Farm. But what of White Star? White Star, the meadow, the--the----

All at once the scene of his conflict flashed into his mind, and the awful truth burst upon him. He was a prisoner in some enemy's ship--or could it be in one of those dreadful privateers, whose ravages were often spoken of, and whom Mr. Aylett had said ought to be put down by Government with a firm hand? Ay, and those ruffians who had treated him with such brutality, they must be no other than some of those dreaded buccaneers, whose atrocities in the West Indies made the blood of peaceable people run cold, and wonder why God's judgments did not descend on all who abetted such crimes. Harry, as we know, was very brave, and yet he shuddered as the truth forced itself on his mind; it was not so much from a feeling of fear, but because, to the boy's weak, fevered brain, the terrible calamity that had overtaken him seemed to be, as it were, a punishment for his old and secret longings, and his discontent at the dull home life.

Then followed a period of great mental pain for the boy, and after having vainly tried to free himself, he lay back utterly spent with the exertion, and with the feeling that perhaps he was reserved for worse tortures. Harry had heard many and many a terrible story of the doings of these buccaneers, who plundered, without distinction, the ships of all nations, and amassed treasures in the West Indies and the Spanish Main, and whose inhuman conduct to their prisoners was not much better than that experienced by the unfortunate Christian prisoners from the pirates of Algiers. Harry's courage was nearly giving way at these thoughts, and as no one was by to see him a few bitter tears rolled down his cheeks; but as he put up his hand to brush them away he suddenly felt ashamed of his weakness.

'God helping me,' thought he, 'whatever these rascals call themselves they shall not see me in tears, be the pretence never so great; it were a pretty story to take back to my father and good Mr. Aylett, that I was found weeping like a girl; but all the same I wish they would give me something to eat. In truth I could devour very willingly a sirloin of beef if it were offered me.'

Hunger is but a melancholy companion, and as the time still passed on and no one came near him, though Harry could hear the tramp of feet above him distinctly enough, the boy began to fear he should be left to die of slow starvation; and though this idea was very fearful to a growing lad, yet he determined that even this suffering should not make him cry out, and, clenching his teeth together, he lay down again and tried to say a few mental prayers. Evidently he must have dozed off, for the next thing he remembered was the sound of a rough voice telling him to get up; at the same time the rope that tied his feet was hastily cut and he felt himself led along a dark passage and pushed up a hatchway, feeling too dazed and weak to notice anything till he was thrust through the door of a small cabin.

By this time Harry's spirit had returned; he forgot his pain and his hunger, and, straightening himself, tried to wrench his arm away from the iron grasp of the sailor that led him.

'What right have you fellows to keep me prisoner here?' cried Harry. 'But as we are upon the high seas it's not likely I can escape, so you need not pinion me down in this fashion.'

At this moment a tall, powerful, and very handsome man entered the cabin, and, hearing Harry's words, burst into a loud and cheerful laugh.

'What, Mings! is this the boy you spoke of? By my faith, you have caged a little eaglet! But we can soon cut his claws and stop his pretty prating. How now, boy: answer truly, and tell me thy name; for we are no lovers of ill-manners and insolence.'

Harry Fenn had been struck dumb by the appearance of the new comer, so that he had ceased struggling with Mings, and now gazed at the courtly-looking man, whose whole bearing spoke of a certain rough refinement and assured courage, such as Harry had believed attainable only by a gentleman of birth and breeding. Evidently the man before him was the captain of the crew, but he was no mere rough sailor such as Harry had often seen at home; on the contrary, his dress was both rich and elegant; he wore his hair in flowing locks just below his neck; a cravat of muslin edged with rich lace was round his throat, and the ends of the bow hung over his thick doublet, which was embroidered in a running pattern. His scarf, thrown over one shoulder and tied at his waist, was heavy with gold embroidery and fringe, and the sword that dangled at his side was evidently of Spanish make, and richly chased. As to his countenance, the more Harry gazed the less he could believe this man had anything to do with the buccaneers of the West Indies he had heard so much about, for the Captain's expression was open, and even pleasant. His eyes were of a pale blue, shaded by soft and reddish eyebrows; his nose straight and well formed; and though his mouth was somewhat full and coarse, yet there was nothing bad-tempered about it; and the curling moustache and small tuft of hair on his chin reminded one of a jolly cavalier more than of a dreaded sea-captain. Yes, Harry fancied he might be mistaken, and that this gentleman was in truth a loyal captain of His Majesty's Navy, and that his own capture was all some terrible mistake. This idea gave him courage, and, shaking himself free from his jailor, he advanced boldly towards the handsome-looking man, who surely must be the soul of honour, and no enemy to the public.

'Oh, sir, I fancied I had fallen into the hands of evil men; but surely I am mistaken, and you will see justice done me. I am a yeoman's son. My name is Harry Fenn, and my father owns a farm at South Benfleet. I had but gone down to see after one of our cows who had been sick, when suddenly your men waylaid me when I defended our cattle, and used me in a brutish manner. Had they wanted to buy cattle, my father could have directed them to those willing to sell. I did but my duty in defending my father's property, and I doubt not that they gave you quite a wrong tale of my behaviour; but indeed, sir, it was not true, and though I have been treated very roughly I beg you to see justice done to me, and to have me landed on our English coast; for my parents will be sadly put about on account of my disappearance, and very solicitous about my safety.'

Harry paused, expecting the handsome captain to express his regret at what had happened. Instead of this, his words were received with a loud laugh by Mings; and apparently they also much tickled the fancy of the Captain, for he joined in the merriment, though he looked with kindly eyes on the handsome youth, who, in spite of his being a good deal bespattered with mud and blood stains, was yet a very pleasant picture of a bold, fearless English boy.

'Thou art over-bold, young fellow,' said Mings when he had laughed heartily. 'Doubtless our captain will teach thee how to mind thy speech. Shall I stow the lad away, sir, in the hold? I take it he will come forth in a humbler frame of mind, and with less zeal for defending cattle.'

'Nay, Mings, leave him to me; such a home bird is an uncommon sight, and having fallen on deck for want of a stronger wing, he must needs stay aboard. Go and attend to the guns, and tell the watch to keep a sharp look-out for any strange sail, and I'll see to the boy.'

Mings appeared a little sulky at this order, and took the opportunity of roughly grasping Harry's shoulder as he went by, with the remark:

'Keep a civil tongue in thy head, young scarecrow, or Captain Henry Morgan will soon teach thee to wag it less glibly. It would want but a small gun to blow thee back to the English shore if thou art so anxious to get back--eh, Captain?'

The Captain frowned instead of answering, and Mings made off as quickly as possible; but by this time Harry had recovered from his surprise.

'Then it's true,' he said quickly; 'you are in truth the infamous Henry Morgan the buccaneer, whose name is a terror to all honest folk. I only hope one of His Majesty's men-of-war will give chase, and I will do all in my power to give information. It is a dastardly act that you have done, for you have stolen our property and allowed your men shamefully to ill-use me.'

Harry never stayed to think how unwise his words were: he was so angry at having made a mistake and having fancied this courtly man was an honest gentleman, that he cared nothing at the moment about the consequences of his violent language; indeed, he was all the more furious when he noticed that Captain Morgan seemed only amused by his burst of indignation.

'Thou art a brave lad, and I like to see thy spirit. Tell me thy name. I wager it is an honest one.'

'Ay, truly. Harry Fenn is my name--an honest English yeoman's son, and one that will receive no favours from a buccaneer,' answered Harry, crossing his arms.

'Then thou art my namesake, lad, i' fecks! See, I'll forgive thy hasty words, and take thee for my godson. As for thy parents, well, they must take the chances of war as others do, for there can be no putting back to land now. We had to be very crafty to avoid a large three-decker of sixty-four guns that, I fancy, had scent of my poor frigate; but we ran up the French flag, and so got off; and now we are making a very fair journey towards Jamaica. Art hungry, lad? There's no use lying about thy stomach, for it's a hard taskmaster, and, now I come to think of it, no one has heeded thee or thy wants since the cutter put thee aboard.'

Hunger was indeed a very hard taskmaster for at this moment Harry Fenn felt a dizziness which he could hardly control, and he half fell on a bench which was beside him, and against which he had been leaning. Captain Morgan continued:

'Come, Harry Fenn, you're a brave lad, and we'll strike a bargain. I've taken a fancy to you, my boy, and I'll try and protect you from the sailors. We are rough people at times, but not so bad as we're painted; so if you'll work like the rest, I'll warrant you good provender and as merry a life as we sea-folk know how to lead.'

'I will not work for such as you,' said Harry boldly; 'my father brought me up in honest ways. I would rather die than join hands with such men as your crew.'

'By my troth, boy, you are ignorant of our good deeds, I well see,' said Captain Morgan. 'Many of those in power are glad enough of our inroads on the Spanish Settlements, for those rogues get only their deserts if we make them discharge a little of their gold. Hast never heard of our worthy predecessors? The authorities were less squeamish in those days, and called the deeds of bold men by fine names, whereas now, in truth, it is convenient to dub us buccaneers. There was Sir Thomas Seymour, and before him there were fine doings by Clarke's squadron. By St. George, he was a lucky man! and after six weeks' cruise he brought back a prize of 50,000*l.* taken from the Spaniards. And how about Drake, Hawkins, and Cavendish? There were no ugly names hurled at them, and yet methinks they and we go much on the same lines. In truth we have done good service also against those rascally Dutch, and for that alone we deserve better treatment than we get.'

Captain Morgan now noticed that Harry had become deadly pale, and, hastily rising, the buccaneer opened a locker and took from it a black bottle, the contents of which he poured into a glass.

'Here, lad, thou art faint; this will revive thy courage. But first swear that thou wilt be one of us.'

Harry had eagerly stretched forth his hand to take the glass, but at these words he drew back.

'Nay, but I will not swear; if God wills, I can die, but I will not sully my father's name.'

Captain Morgan frowned angrily, and, striding up to Harry, took hold of his arm with his left hand, and with his right seized the hilt of his sword as he exclaimed--

'Swear, boy, or it will be worse for thee.' Harry Fenn made one last great effort and staggered to his feet; then with his right hand he struck the glass with as much strength as he possessed, and saw the red wine spurt out upon the floor and upon the Captain's doublet.

'God helping me, I will not swear,' he cried; but the words were barely audible, as he fell fainting on the floor.

'As brave a lad as I ever cast eyes on!' said the Captain, losing his stern expression, and, stooping down, he poured a few drops of the wine into Harry's mouth; then, calling for the cook, he bade him tend the boy till he should have regained his strength.

'Harry Fenn shall be under my protection,' said the Captain to himself, 'but in time he must be one of us.'