CHAPTER XVII.
HOW THE YELLOW COG CROSSED THE BAR OF GIRONDE.
For two days the yellow cog ran swiftly before a northeasterly
wind, and on the dawn of the third the high land of Ushant lay
like a mist upon the shimmering sky-line. There came a plump of
rain towards mid-day and the breeze died down, but it freshened
again before nightfall, and Goodwin Hawtayne veered his sheet and
held head for the south. Next morning they had passed Belle
Isle, and ran through the midst of a fleet of transports
returning from Guienne. Sir Nigel Loring and Sir Oliver
Buttesthorn at once hung their shields over the side, and
displayed their pennons as was the custom, noting with the
keenest interest the answering symbols which told the names of
the cavaliers who had been constrained by ill health or wounds to
leave the prince at so critical a time.
That evening a great dun-colored cloud banked up in the west, and
an anxious man was Goodwin Hawtayne, for a third part of his crew
had been slain, and half the remainder were aboard the galleys,
so that, with an injured ship, he was little fit to meet such a
storm as sweeps over those waters. All night it blew in short
fitful puffs, heeling the great cog over until the water curled
over her lee bulwarks. As the wind still freshened the yard was
lowered half way down the mast in the morning. Alleyne,
wretchedly ill and weak, with his head still ringing from the
blow which he had received, crawled up upon deck, Water-swept and
aslant, it was preferable to the noisome, rat-haunted dungeons
which served as cabins. There, clinging to the stout halliards
of the sheet, he gazed with amazement at the long lines of black
waves, each with its curling ridge of foam, racing in endless
succession from out the inexhaustible west. A huge sombre cloud,
flecked with livid blotches, stretched over the whole seaward
sky-line, with long ragged streamers whirled out in front of it.
Far behind them the two galleys labored heavily, now sinking
between the rollers until their yards were level with the waves,
and again shooting up with a reeling, scooping motion until every
spar and rope stood out hard against the sky. On the left the
low-lying land stretched in a dim haze, rising here and there
into a darker blur which marked the higher capes and headlands.
The land of France! Alleyne's eyes shone as he gazed upon it.
The land of France!--the very words sounded as the call of a
bugle in the ears of the youth of England. The land where their
fathers had bled, the home of chivalry and of knightly deeds, the
country of gallant men, of courtly women, of princely buildings,
of the wise, the polished and the sainted. There it lay, so
still and gray beneath the drifting wrack--the home of things
noble and of things shameful--the theatre where a new name might
be made or an old one marred. From his bosom to his lips came
the crumpled veil, and he breathed a vow that if valor and
goodwill could raise him to his lady's side, then death alone
should hold him back from her. His thoughts were still in the
woods of Minstead and the old armory of Twynham Castle, when the
hoarse voice of the master-shipman brought them back once more to
the Bay of Biscay.
"By my troth, young sir," he said, "you are as long in the face
as the devil at a christening, and I cannot marvel at it, for I
have sailed these waters since I was as high as this whinyard,
and yet I never saw more sure promise of an evil night."
"Nay, I had other things upon my mind," the squire answered.
"And so has every man," cried Hawtayne in an injured voice. "Let
the shipman see to it. It is the master-shipman's affair. Put
it all upon good Master Hawtayne! Never had I so much care since
first I blew trumpet and showed cartel at the west gate of
Southampton."
"What is amiss then?" asked Alleyne, for the man's words were as
gusty as the weather.
"Amiss, quotha? Here am I with but half my mariners, and a hole
in the ship where that twenty-devil stone struck us big enough to
fit the fat widow of Northam through. It is well enough on this
tack, but I would have you tell me what I am to do on the other.
We are like to have salt water upon us until we be found pickled
like the herrings in an Easterling's barrels."
"What says Sir Nigel to it?"
"He is below pricking out the coat-armor of his mother's uncle.
`Pester me not with such small matters!' was all that I could get
from him. Then there is Sir Oliver. `Fry them in oil with a
dressing of Gascony,' quoth he, and then swore at me because I
had not been the cook. `Walawa,' thought I, `mad master, sober
man'--so away forward to the archers. Harrow and alas! but they
were worse than the others."
"Would they not help you then?"
"Nay, they sat tway and tway at a board, him that they call
Aylward and the great red-headed man who snapped the Norman's
arm-bone, and the black man from Norwich, and a score of others,
rattling their dice in an archer's gauntlet for want of a box.
`The ship can scarce last much longer, my masters,' quoth I.
`That is your business, old swine's-head,' cried the black
galliard. `Le diable t'emporte,' says Aylward. `A five, a four
and the main,' shouted the big man, with a voice like the flap of
a sail. Hark to them now, young sir, and say if I speak not
sooth."
As he spoke, there sounded high above the shriek of the gale and
the straining of the timbers a gust of oaths with a roar of
deep-chested mirth from the gamblers in the forecastle.
"Can I be of avail?" asked Alleyne. "Say the word and the thing
is done, if two hands may do it."
"Nay, nay, your head I can see is still totty, and i' faith
little head would you have, had your bassinet not stood your
friend. All that may be done is already carried out, for we have
stuffed the gape with sails and corded it without and within.
Yet when we bale our bowline and veer the sheet our lives will
hang upon the breach remaining blocked. See how yonder headland
looms upon us through the mist! We must tack within three arrow
flights, or we may find a rock through our timbers. Now, St.
Christopher be praised! here is Sir Nigel, with whom I may
confer."
"I prythee that you will pardon me," said the knight, clutching
his way along the bulwark. "I would not show lack of courtesy
toward a worthy man, but I was deep in a matter of some weight,
concerning which, Alleyne, I should be glad of your rede. It
touches the question of dimidiation or impalement in the coat of
mine uncle, Sir John Leighton of Shropshire, who took unto wife
the widow of Sir Henry Oglander of Nunwell. The case has been
much debated by pursuivants and kings-of-arms. But how is it
with you, master shipman?"
"Ill enough, my fair lord. The cog must go about anon, and I
know not how we may keep the water out of her."
"Go call Sir Oliver!" said Sir Nigel, and presently the portly
knight made his way all astraddle down the slippery deck.
"By my soul, master-shipman, this passes all patience!" he cried
wrathfully. "If this ship of yours must needs dance and skip
like a clown at a kermesse, then I pray you that you will put me
into one of these galeasses. I had but sat down to a flask of
malvoisie and a mortress of brawn, as is my use about this hour,
when there comes a cherking, and I find my wine over my legs and
the flask in my lap, and then as I stoop to clip it there comes
another cursed cherk, and there is a mortress of brawn stuck fast
to the nape of my neck. At this moment I have two pages coursing
after it from side to side, like hounds behind a leveret. Never
did living pig gambol more lightly. But you have sent for me,
Sir Nigel?"
"I would fain have your rede, Sir Oliver, for Master Hawtayne
hath fears that when we veer there may come danger from the hole
in our side."
"Then do not veer," quoth Sir Oliver hastily. "And now, fair
sir, I must hasten back to see how my rogues have fared with the
brawn."
"Nay, but this will scarce suffice," cried the shipman. "If we
do not veer we will be upon the rocks within the hour."
"Then veer," said Sir Oliver. "There is my rede; and now, Sir
Nigel, I must crave----"
At this instant, however, a startled shout rang out from two
seamen upon the forecastle. "Rocks!" they yelled, stabbing into
the air with their forefingers. "Rocks beneath our very bows!"
Through the belly of a great black wave, not one hundred paces to
the front of them, there thrust forth a huge jagged mass of brown
stone, which spouted spray as though it were some crouching
monster, while a dull menacing boom and roar filled the air.
"Yare! yare!" screamed Goodwin Hawtayne, flinging himself upon
the long pole which served as a tiller. "Cut the halliard! Haul
her over! Lay her two courses to the wind!"
Over swung the great boom, and the cog trembled and quivered
within five spear-lengths of the breakers.
"She can scarce draw clear," cried Hawtayne, with his eyes from
the sail to the seething line of foam. "May the holy Julian
stand by us and the thrice-sainted Christopher!"
"If there be such peril, Sir Oliver," quoth Sir Nigel, "it would
be very knightly and fitting that we should show our pennons. I
pray you. Edricson, that you will command my guidon-bearer to
put forward my banner."
"And sound the trumpets!" cried Sir Oliver. "In manus tuas,
Domine! I am in the keeping of James of Compostella, to whose
shrine I shall make pilgrimage, and in whose honor I vow that I
will eat a carp each year upon his feast-day. Mon Dieu, but the
waves roar! How is it with us now, master-shipman?"
"We draw! We draw!" cried Hawtayne, with his eyes still fixed
upon the foam which hissed under the very bulge of the side.
"Ah, Holy Mother, be with us now!"
As he spoke the cog rasped along the edge of the reef, and a long
white curling sheet of wood was planed off from her side from
waist to poop by a jutting horn of the rock. At the same instant
she lay suddenly over, the sail drew full, and she plunged
seawards amid the shoutings of the seamen and the archers.
"The Virgin be praised!" cried the shipman, wiping his brow.
"For this shall bell swing and candle burn when I see Southampton
Water once more. Cheerily, my hearts! Pull yarely on the
bowline!"
"By my soul! I would rather have a dry death," quoth Sir Oliver.
"Though, Mort Dieu! I have eaten so many fish that it were but
justice that the fish should eat me. Now I must back to the
cabin, for I have matters there which crave my attention."
"Nay, Sir Oliver, you had best bide with us, and still show your
ensign," Sir Nigel answered; "for, if I understand the matter
aright, we have but turned from one danger to the other."
"Good Master Hawtayne," cried the boatswain, rushing aft, "the
water comes in upon us apace. The waves have driven in the sail
wherewith we strove to stop the hole." As he spoke the seamen
came swarming on to the poop and the forecastle to avoid the
torrent which poured through the huge leak into the waist. High
above the roar of the wind and the clash of the sea rose the
shrill half-human cries of the horses, as they found the water
rising rapidly around them.
"Stop it from without!" cried Hawtayne, seizing the end of the
wet sail with which the gap had been plugged. "Speedily, my
hearts, or we are gone!" Swiftly they rove ropes to the corners,
and then, rushing forward to the bows, they lowered them under
the keel, and drew them tight in such a way that the sail should
cover the outer face of the gap. The force of the rush of water
was checked by this obstacle, but it still squirted plentifully
from every side of it. At the sides the horses were above the
belly, and in the centre a man from the poop could scarce touch
the deck with a seven-foot spear. The cog lay lower in the water
and the waves splashed freely over the weather bulwark.
"I fear that we can scarce bide upon this tack," cried Hawtayne;
"and yet the other will drive us on the rocks."
"Might we not haul down sail and wait for better times?"
suggested Sir Nigel.
"Nay, we should drift upon the rocks. Thirty years have I been
on the sea, and never yet in greater straits. Yet we are in the
hands of the Saints."
"Of whom," cried Sir Oliver, "I look more particularly to St.
James of Compostella, who hath already befriended us this day,
and on whose feast I hereby vow that I shall eat a second carp,
if he will but interpose a second time."
The wrack had thickened to seaward, and the coast was but a
blurred line. Two vague shadows in the offing showed where the
galeasses rolled and tossed upon the great Atlantic rollers,
Hawtayne looked wistfully in their direction.
"If they would but lie closer we might find safety, even should
the cog founder. You will bear me out with good Master Witherton
of Southampton that I have done all that a shipman might. It
would be well that you should doff camail and greaves, Sir Nigel,
for, by the black rood! it is like enough that we shall have to
swim for it."
"Nay," said the little knight, "it would be scarce fitting that a
cavalier should throw off his harness for the fear of every puff
of wind and puddle of water. I would rather that my Company
should gather round me here on the poop, where we might abide
together whatever God may be pleased to send. But, certes,
Master Hawtayne, for all that my sight is none of the best, it is
not the first time that I have seen that headland upon the left."
The seaman shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazed earnestly
through the haze and spray. Suddenly he threw up his arms and
shouted aloud in his joy.
"'Tis the point of La Tremblade!" he cried. "I had not thought
that we were as far as Oleron. The Gironde lies before us, and
once over the bar, and under shelter of the Tour de Cordouan, all
will be well with us. Veer again, my hearts, and bring her to
try with the main course!"
The sail swung round once more, and the cog, battered and torn
and well-nigh water-logged, staggered in for this haven of
refuge. A bluff cape to the north and a long spit to the south
marked the mouth of the noble river, with a low-lying island of
silted sand in the centre, all shrouded and curtained by the
spume of the breakers. A line of broken water traced the
dangerous bar, which in clear day and balmy weather has cracked
the back of many a tall ship.
"There is a channel," said Hawtayne, "which was shown to me by
the Prince's own pilot. Mark yonder tree upon the bank, and see
the tower which rises behind it. If these two be held in a line,
even as we hold them now, it may be done, though our ship draws
two good ells more than when she put forth."
"God speed you, Master Hawtayne!" cried Sir Oliver. "Twice have
we come scathless out of peril, and now for the third time I
commend me to the blessed James of Compostella, to whom I vow----"
"Nay, nay, old friend," whispered Sir Nigel. "You are like to
bring a judgment upon us with these vows, which no living man
could accomplish. Have I not already heard you vow to eat two
carp in one day, and now you would venture upon a third?"
"I pray you that you will order the Company to lie down," cried
Hawtayne, who had taken the tiller and was gazing ahead with a
fixed eye. "In three minutes we shall either be lost or in
safety."
Archers and seamen lay flat upon the deck, waiting in stolid
silence for whatever fate might come. Hawtayne bent his weight
upon the tiller, and crouched to see under the bellying sail.
Sir Oliver and Sir Nigel stood erect with hands crossed in front
of the poop. Down swooped the great cog into the narrow channel
which was the portal to safety. On either bow roared the shallow
bar. Right ahead one small lane of black swirling water marked
the pilot's course. But true was the eye and firm the hand which
guided. A dull scraping came from beneath, the vessel quivered
and shook, at the waist, at the quarter, and behind sounded that
grim roaring of the waters, and with a plunge the yellow cog was
over the bar and speeding swiftly up the broad and tranquil
estuary of the Gironde.
