CHAPTER XI
THE "HAPPY ADVENTURE"
"WOUNDED, and wants to go home, eh?" was the comment of the Governor of Dartmouth Castle, when Captain Dixon, the transport officer, made known my request. "Beshrew me, 'tis but a continuous stream of men from Dorset and Hamptonshire clamouring for passages, and most of them unscathed. What's thy name?"
I told him, and his abrupt manner changed.
"A relation of Sir Reginald Markham, of Ashley, perchance?"
"His son."
"I know Sir Reginald well by name, though I cannot call him to mind. Yet I would not be doing my duty if I refused to aid the son of a loyal cavalier. Let him have a passage by the first vessel, Dixon, if he be willing to take the risk of capture."
For the next three days I was at liberty to look around the town, for until Batten's squadron relaxed its vigilance or a kindly fog swept down upon the sea, escape was almost an impossibility.
The journey by road was not to be thought of, for the Roundhead cause was strong in Dorchester, Poole, Salisbury, and, in fact, nearly every village and town in Wiltshire and Dorset, and no man, not a declared Parliamentarian, could travel through those districts in safety.
On the morning of the fourth day after my arrival a thick mist hung over the harbour, blotting out everything more than a hundred yards away. The outlines of the hamlet of Kingswear could just, and only just, be discerned, while the ships in the river looked like enormous shadows as they swung to the strong tide.
"Bestir yourself, Master Markham," said Captain Dixon, "if you want to get away to-day. The Happy Adventure is to make an attempt to sail in an hour's time, if the mist holds."
As my personal belongings consisted solely in what I stood up in, my preparations were soon completed, and in five minutes I was being rowed off to the vessel which, if Providence willed, was to take me homewards.
The Happy Adventure was a large fishing-smack, which had the reputation of being the fastest sailer betwixt Start Point and Portland Bill, yet withal she was bluff-bowed and had a good amount of freeboard.
Her crew consisted of three men and a boy, besides which there were two passengers, a cornet of Lyle's Horse, and myself.
She was to bear despatches to Littlehampton, whence the cornet had to ride with the precious missives to Arundel Castle, as the Governor of Dartmouth thought that the quickest and safest method of communicating with that castle would be by water.
The huge brown sails were hoisted and the moorings slipped, and with a cool breeze that swept down from the hills in sudden squalls, the Happy Adventure headed for the open sea. The blurred images of the castle and St. Petrox appeared to glide past on our starboard hand, and the next instant the coast was blotted out in the ever-increasing fog, which soon grew so thick that we could scarce see from one end of the boat to the other.
Away on our larboard bow came the dull roar of beating surf, but the master treated this with perfect composure.
"'Tis but the Mewstone," he remarked. "We must stand in more if we would avoid the rebels' boats. Bear away, George," he added, addressing the helmsman, "and try to clear the rock by the boat's length."
As we approached the roar became louder, but above the noise of the breakers we heard the sound of oars, and a hoarse voice shouted, "Heave-to!"
"Ay! ay!" replied the master, rushing to relieve the man at the tiller.
"What! You are not going to give up without an effort?" exclaimed the cornet. But with an oath the master bade him hold his tongue.
Ahead a boat loomed through the mist, manned by a dozen rowers, with several musketeers in her stern-sheets. The men's matches were lighted, and their muskets at the ready.
"Heave-to, once more, I say, and throw us a line," shouted an officer.
"I hear you, sir," replied the master. "Down sail!" he shouted to the crew; but, obeying a motion of his hand, the men remained motionless.
The next instant the master had thrown his whole weight against the tiller; the Happy Adventure seemed to swing round as if on a pivot, and her bluff bows crashed into the rebels' boat.
A shattering of wood, a chorus of shouts and shrieks, and the stout craft had overridden the frail long-boat, Then, within a little more than an oar's length of the towering pinnacle of rock under our lee, the Happy Adventure spun round and resumed her course, the mist swallowing up the figures of the struggling men, though for long their cries were heard above the roar of the surf.
"I owe you an apology for mistrusting you," exclaimed the cornet, holding out his hand to the imperturbable master; but the stiff old sea-dog of Devon only bade him remember he was but a mere passenger, whereupon my fellow-voyager retired in confusion.
This was our only meeting with the vessels of Batten's squadron, and with the favouring breeze that soon dispersed the mist, the Happy Adventure bore steadily eastwards.
Shortly after midday the Bill hove in sight; then the wind failed, and until darkness set in the smack was rolling in the oily waters of Lyme Bay, with the distant sounds of the terrible Race being faintly borne to our ears in the calm atmosphere.
About an hour after dark the cornet and I went to sleep, having only the rough comfort afforded by a heap of sails but, thanks to our hardy life, we slept none the worse.
Our rest was fated not to be of long duration, for we were aroused by the master giving orders in a loud and excited voice.
Springing to our feet, we peered into the inky blackness of the night, and straight ahead we saw a row of glimmering lights arranged in series of three, of which the middle one was slightly higher than the two outside.
They were the stern lanterns of a fleet.
"We are overhauling them fast," said the master "though we can scarce hope to pass by them ere daylight. If we are to avoid them we must needs stand in Poole Bay."
"I care not what ye do, as long as we are not taken," replied the cornet, who still smarted under his previous rebuff.
The breeze had freshened again, and we had run past Portland and were, so the master told us, abreast of St. Alban's Head. Resolving to stand more inshore, he altered the helm, and gradually we brought the endmost lights under our quarter.
Day dawned and found us within a couple of miles to leeward of the squadron, with Christchurch Head about four miles to larboard. We were soon perceived, for a frigate altered her course and fired a gun for us to bring to, whereupon the master, seeing flight out of the question, ordered the Happy Adventure to shorten sail, at the same time sending us down below.
In the cramped, close cabin we were unable to see what was taking place, though we heard the hails from the frigate and our master's replies.
"Luff up under my stem and let's have a look at you," shouted an authoritative voice. "Where are you from, and where are you bound?"
"From Poole to Cowes," answered the master.
"And the cargo?"
"Clay."
"Lay-to while I send a boat," shouted the officer, and we distinctly heard the scurrying of bare feet and the creaking of the tackle as the seamen prepared to lower one of the quarter-boats.
"They'll have us right enough," whispered the ensign, as he prepared to rush on deck to throw his despatches, already weighted with lead, into the sea; but even as his foot was on the ladder we heard the voice continue, "Carry on with you." The bos'un's whistle sounded, and we heard the blocks creak as the frigate's yards were swung round.
Our vessel also resumed her course, and after some time had elapsed the cornet insisted on leaving the cabin.
"Who told you to come on deck?" bawled the master, his speech accompanied by a string of nautical oaths. "You jack-booted, brainless weathercock your tin figurehead has undone us!"
His words, though unceremonious, were quite true, for the frigate was keeping a sharp eye on us, and perceiving the cornet's steel cap emerge from the hatchway, the rebels concluded that they had made a mistake in not searching us.
Her yards were trimmed once more, and she started in pursuit. A spurt of flame followed by a cloud of smoke burst from one of her bow ports, and a shot struck the water fifty yards from our quarter, rebounding twice ere it sank.
Making sure that every stitch of canvas was drawing, the master kept the Happy Adventure on her course, casting anxious glances over his shoulder at the pursuing frigate, which was barely two miles astern.
"We gain a little," he remarked after a while, as the shots fell farther and farther astern; but ahead was a belt of flat calm, and unless the breeze held our capture seemed inevitable.
The rest of the squadron had borne away more to the south'ard, heading towards the Needles Channel. Astern the frigate was crowding on sail, ahead were the guns of Hurst Castle, and we knew that we were fairly entrapped.
[Illustration: The darting rays fell on my face, and with a stifled cry of terror the soldier turned to flee.]
The cornet suggested running the vessel ashore, but to this proposal the master gave a stern refusal.
"We have a chance, a bare chance," he said. "And as long as my craft floats I'll take it."
Fortunately the breeze held in front of us, the belt of unruffled water receding still farther as we progressed, and the Happy Adventure showed that her reputation for sailing was no idle one. The frigate, too, finding that we were out of range had ceased firing, but had set her royals.
Staggering under her press of sail, she evidently found that the wind was too much for her, and shortly afterwards we could see the royals being clewed up. Then a blinding rain set in, almost blotting out the outlines of our pursuer, whereat the master whistled blithely.
"Edge her off a bit," he ordered, "or we'll be hard and fast aground." And, to my surprise, the smack was steered, not as I thought towards the open sea, but nearer the shore. Though I dare not question this fiery-tempered son of Devon, he doubtless saw the look of inquiry on my face.
"'Tis the Shingles, young sir," he explained. "A vast bank just below the surface. If yon vessel holds on her course she'll run herself aground."
The frigate did not attempt to sheer off, and, as the master had predicted, she struck hard, her fore-topmast going by the board.
"That's settled her for the nonce," remarked the master. "But now for the guns of Hurst Castle."
Once more we were to be shown the art of "bluffing." Trusting to his proverbial luck, the master steered direct for the fortress, instead of heading away for the more distant shore of the Isle of Wight.
Hurst is not a large castle; it is merely a stone fort, heavily mounted with guns, and occupies the extremity of a low spit of shingle. Between it and the island the tide was surging in a manner the like of which I had never seen before, Tumbling and rolling in a confused mass of broken water, the sea was running as fast as a horse can trot—at least, that is what it appeared to me—but close to the castle a strong eddy was making in an opposite direction to the main flood.
Into this eddy the Happy Adventure was steered. The frigate was now nearly lost in the rain cloud, though we could see that she was still fast aground. Against the counter-current the smack only just held her own, and, edging so close to the fortress that we could almost have jumped on to the beach, she came within easy hailing distance.
"What ship is that?" shouted an officer, whose appearance could not be taken for anything else than a rebel. He was supported by a file of musketeers, while we could see some gunners cluster round a piece of ordnance, that grinned at us through a wide embrasure.
"The Happy Adventure, of Poole. We are chased by the malignants. Can we take shelter in Keyhaven?"
"What is the name of the ship?"
"I know not; she is a frigate, and is aground on the Shingles."
"Carry on, and bring up in the haven."
"Very good, sir."
The smack kept close inshore, making slow progress till the entrance to the narrow creek behind the castle became visible then, before the rebels could understand that they had been tricked, the Happy Adventure shot into the main tide, and with the wind and current was quickly out of gunshot.
We saved our tide right through the Solent. At the sight of Cowes Harbour my thoughts flew back to the finding of staunch old Nicholas Firestone. I often wondered whether I should see him again. And Ralph Granville, too, where was he?
Then the low-lying fortifications of Portsmouth were seen three miles or more on our larboard bow, and the sight of Southsea Castle, over which the rebel flag was doubtless floating, brought back memories of the double-dealing Chaloner. I had an easy conscience concerning the slaying of that man, for he was both a traitor to the King and a personal enemy to our house.
"I'll stand in a bit, young sir," said the master, pointing to a low tree-clad shore. "Maybe, a fisherman will take you ashore. 'Tis the mouth of Chichester Harbour you can see yonder, and 'twill save you a long journey, though I cannot place you ashore here myself."
Fortunately there were fishermen at work just below the Outer Pole Sands, and one of them expressed his willingness to land me. A quarter of an hour later the Happy Adventure was nearly lost to sight as she headed through the drizzling rain towards the Looe Stream.
The fishing-boat, a frail-looking craft with a tall, narrow sail set up by a single halyard on a slender mast, after the fashion of these parts—for there were half a dozen similar craft racing for the harbour—was not long in making the passage up the mud-banked channel, and just as the sun was setting I set foot in my native county once more, at the town of Emsworth. After giving the fisherman one of my two remaining shillings, I inquired the way, and stepped briskly out in the gathering darkness, knowing that a good many miles lay between me and Ashley Castle.