Greensheve, Cuckow, and a young fellow of Lord Foxham’s
whom Dick had already remarked for his intelligence
and spirit, were still, however, both fit to understand
and willing to obey. These Dick set, as a body-guard,
about the person of the steersman, and then, with
a last look at the black sky and sea, he turned and
went below into the cabin, whither Lord Foxham had
been carried by his servants.
The moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing
of the ship’s dog. The poor animal, whether
he was merely sick at heart to be separated from his
friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril
in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like
minute-guns, above the roar of wave and weather; and
the more superstitious of the men heard, in these
sounds, the knell of the Good Hope.
Lord Foxham had been laid in a berth upon a fur cloak.
A little lamp burned dim before the Virgin in the
bulkhead, and by its glimmer Dick could see the pale
countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man.
“I am sore hurt,” said he. “Come
near to my side, young Shelton; let there be one by
me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having
lived nobly and richly all the days of my life, this
is a sad pass that I should get my hurt in a little
ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a foul, cold
ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls.”
“Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “I pray
rather to the saints that ye will recover you of your
hurt, and come soon and sound ashore.”
“How!” demanded his lordship. “Come
sound ashore? There is, then, a question of
it?”
“The ship laboureth—the sea is grievous
and contrary,” replied the lad; “and by
what I can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we
shall do well, indeed, if we come dryshod to land.”
“Ha!” said the baron, gloomily, “thus
shall every terror attend upon the passage of my soul!
Sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy,
than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to
the pipe and tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged
among misfortunes! Howbeit, I have that upon
my mind that must not be delayed. We have no
priest aboard?”
“None,” replied Dick.
“Here, then, to my secular interests,”
resumed Lord Foxham: “ye must be as good
a friend to me dead, as I found you a gallant enemy
when I was living. I fall in an evil hour for
me, for England, and for them that trusted me.
My men are being brought by Hamley—he
that was your rival; they will rendezvous in the long
holm at Holywood; this ring from off my finger will
accredit you to represent mine orders; and I shall
write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding
Hamley yield to you the damsel. Will he obey?
I know not.”
“But, my lord, what orders?” inquired
Dick.
“Ay,” quoth the baron, “ay—the
orders;” and he looked upon Dick with hesitation.
“Are ye Lancaster or York?” he asked,
at length.
