Chapter Twenty Three.
How the Miséricorde sailed for Rochelle.
My master was very surly with me when I refused to go his errand abroad; yet he had too much need of my service in the business he was engaged on to fall out with me as he would have liked. And seeing me resolved to abide where I was, he bade me stay and look to the place while he himself saw after the removing of the stuff from Mistress Crane’s house to Moulsey.
“As to the type,” said he, “we will speak of that again. But mark me, Humphrey, a ’prentice who is not good enough to do an errand like this is not good enough to be my son-in-law.”
And he went off in dudgeon, leaving me very lonely and miserable. And, to tell the truth, at any other season I should have hailed this voyage; and when next day I saw lying near London Bridge the Miséricorde herself, and hailing the captain (who was that same shipmate who had steered us into Leith Roads), heard from him that in a week he should sail for France, I wished I could divide myself in two and go half with him and half remain at my post in London.
A day or two later, being evening, I had locked up the printing house and was wandering to take the air towards Smithfield. I had passed under Temple Bar and was making my way down Fleet Street, when there knocked up against me a great carter fellow, whom, by his gait, I took to be more than half drunk. Being a ’prentice, and not in the humour for knocks of that kind, I swung round on the fellow to kick him for his clumsiness, when he looked me suddenly in the face and uttered my name.
It was Ludar.
It was my turn now to reel like a drunken man; and so mighty a knock did my heart give against my ribs that I believe I should have fallen had he not roughly caught my arm and muttered—
“Not a word, but lead on.” And he staggered away, smacking his whip and calling to his horse to go forward.
I walked on in a dream, knowing by the crack of the whip behind that he followed at a distance, yet never daring to turn my head. At last, as we came near Smithfield, I looked back. He lay on the top of a load of hay in his cart, singing aloud noisily and cracking his whip, and seeming no more concerned in me or any one else than the patient horse he drove.
The market place was full of carts, amidst which he was presently able to leave his own and come near where I stood with a crowd looking at some bulls just brought in. He had left his whip behind, by which I guessed he had done with his cart and was free to follow me on foot. So presently I edged out and wandered slowly back citywards. It was already dusk, and by the time I got back to my master’s door and unlocked it, night had fallen. I durst not look back as I entered, and indeed made a great noise as of fastening bolts and bars within. Then I stood and waited in a fever.
Had I been wrong after all? An hour passed and never a footfall on the pavement. Then the watch marched by, and as their slow tramp died away in the distance the door quietly opened and there stood Ludar, very pale, but as cool and unconcerned as the day I first met him near Oxford.
“Are you alone?” said he.
“Yes.”
“Is there any food in the house?”
I flew to get him some, while he slowly took off his faded carter’s cloak, and flung himself wearily on a chair.
He kept me waiting while he ate, nor had I the words to question him. But when his hunger was appeased, he said:
“Six days I have waited and thought you lost. Yet I knew I should find you at last, and I did.”
“You escaped?” I asked, the words coming slowly and charily.
“Yes, Humphrey, my friend. After six months, with great labour, and by the help of a nail, I filed my wrist chain and freed my hands. Then when my warder came one evening later than usual, I flew on him and felled him. He was but stunned, and lay still scarce long enough for me to strip him and put him in my clothes. Then I left him and walked out, jingling the keys. In the dark, no one looked twice at me, even when at the porter’s lodge I went to hang up my keys. ‘You be late in your rounds to-night,’ said the porter, who dozed at the fire. I grunted in reply, and sat beside him till he was well asleep. Then I slipped the great key from his belt, and bade him good-night, to which he muttered something. At the great gate stood a young sentry, who, seeing me to be a warder, asked me where I went at that hour. I told him a state prisoner was very sick and I was bidden by the leech go to the druggist for a plaster. ‘A pretty errand to send an honest fellow,’ said I, ‘who has work enough of his own without being waiting gentleman to every knave in the place who has a fit of the colic.’ The soldier laughed and said, ’twas a pity they did not keep a supply of plasters in the place. To which I agreed, and unlocking the gate, bade him guard the key while I was out, as ’twas a risk to carry it beyond the precincts. ‘But I pray you, comrade,’ said I, ‘be at hand to admit me when I return.’ ‘Ay, ay,’ said he, with a grin. ‘There be some in here who would not tap hard to get in again.’ So we parted good friends, and out I got. After that I went down to the river, where all was dark, and being anxious to part with my warder’s clothes which might tell tales, I stripped, and filling the pockets with stones, dropped them into the tide. Then I set out to swim to the other shore, and you may guess if it was not brave to feel free once more. ’Twas a long swim, and the tide carried me far down to Rotherhithe, where, as luck would have it, as I neared shore I struck against something floating on the stream. At first I thought it a log, but as I laid my arms upon it, I found it, to my horror, to be a corpse of a man drowned. I was going to cast off again, when I bethought me, here was a man whose clothes were no use to him or any one else, while I went naked. So I dragged him to a desolate part of the shore. He seemed to be a carrier, and having no wound or sign of violence on him, I concluded him to have fallen in the water either by accident or of his own accord. These garments I wear are his.”
I shuddered as I looked at them. They seemed scarce dry yet.
“That was a month ago,” said he, “since then—”
“A month,” cried I, “and I only find you now?”
“I have hidden here and there, and worked for my livelihood across the water; not daring to show myself this side; till two weeks ago, I was sent to Smithfield with hay, and after that came daily. But till yesterday I never saw you; nor expected it then. But you have news for me, Humphrey,” said he, “tell it, for I can hear it.”
Then I told him all that had happened since I saw him last, and much the story moved him. And when I came to speak of the maiden, this great, strong man’s hand trembled like a leaf as he stretched it across the table, and put out the light which burned there.
“We can talk as well in the dark,” said he, hoarsely.
So, in the dark, never seeing his face, yet guessing every look upon it, I told him how the maiden had gone often by boat and gazed up at the great Tower; and how, when she left, she had said to me, “Stay near him”; and how hardly she had torn herself away to return to her father.
He heard me, and said not a word, nor moved a muscle; and, when there was no more to be told, he sat on in the dark, breathing hard, until I supposed he had fallen asleep.
But when, after a while, the early dawn struggled through the casement, it found him still awake, with a look on his face half hope, half bewilderment, and a light in his eyes such as I had seen there only once before—on that day we crossed from Cantire to the Bann with the maiden.
But the sight of day roused him.
“Humphrey, I dare not be seen here,” said he, “there is a hue and cry after me. Where shall I hide?”
That was a question had been troubling me all night. For stay where he was he could not. And, if he fled, was I to lose him thus, the moment I found him?
Almost as he spoke there came a step without, and a loud tap on the outer door, at sound of which Ludar started to his feet, and his hand went by instinct to his belt.
“Hush,” whispered I, “’tis only my master, the printer. Here, follow me,” said I, leading him up the narrow stairs, “here is a room where you should be safe,” and I put him into the chamber that was once the maiden’s. “Presently I will return. Meanwhile give yourself to guessing who once called this little room hers.”
Then I went down drowsily, and admitted my master.
“Humphrey,” said he, “the stuff is safely removed to Moulsey; but without type we can do nothing. As it is, I must take what we have here till I can get more. I have no one I can send but you. Once again, are you willing to go? or must I lose a ’prentice and Jeannette a husband?”
While he spoke, a thought had flashed on me, and, presently I replied, humbly enough:
“Master, I am bound to obey you. When you asked me a week since, I answered you like a fool. I have thought better of it, and if you will yet trust me, I am ready to start to-night.”
At that he gripped my hand, and said he knew I was a good lad all along, and was content to forgive me. And he told me what grief my disobedience had caused him and my mistress, and read me a long sermon on the sinfulness of my course.
“As to thy voyage,” said he, “I hear there sails a ship from the pool for Rochelle to-morrow at dawn. Make ready to start, therefore, and meanwhile I will write you your letters for my kinsfolk there.”
It seemed he would stay all day; and presently he sent me a message to a stationer on Ludgate Hill, which I must needs take, and so leave him and Ludar alone in the house.
While out, I got a great fright. For the watch were abroad in search of the notable villain who had late escaped from her Majesty’s Tower, and who was reported to have been seen lurking in the disguise of a carter, not many days since, near Newgate. And it was said, I heard, that he had been seen even later than that—to wit, yesterday—at Smithfield, where he had suddenly left his cart and disappeared. And some said it was known he had a confederate in the city, who was giving him shelter, and of whose name the watch had a pretty shrewd guess. Whereupon, ill at ease, I said, “Pray Heaven they may find both the rogues,” and so hastened back as fast as my legs would carry me to Temple Bar.
There I found my master ready to leave.
“Here are the letters,” said he, “and money. While you are gone I must hire a man to see to the printing here, since my duties will take me elsewhere. Should aught befall me, Humphrey, you must keep the work going for the sake of your mistress and the children. For it is like enough my head is none too safe on my shoulders, or if it is, it may chance I must hold it up a while across the seas. My lad, God hath chosen you to assist in a mighty work, which, whether it succeed or fail, will be a thing to pride in some day hence. Farewell, my son, see you get good type for the money, and bring it quickly. So, Heaven speed you.”
When he was gone I went up and found Ludar mad with hunger and impatience.
“What news?” said he, “and speak not to me unless it be to say, dinner is served.”
He looked pale and harassed, and I think, although the little room had a bed and a chair, he had stood upright in it all day, touching nothing.
But when I had him down to dinner, he touched a good deal, and told me, in explanation, that the meal I gave him last night had been the first for three days, and that, then, he was too eager for news to take all he might.
When I told him of the hue and cry, and how near the watch was on the scent, he turned to me and said:
“Where shall we go, Humphrey?”
Which meant, that wherever he went, he counted on me to follow. So I told him of my errand to Rochelle, and of the Miséricorde, which lay below the Bridge. Then his face brightened.
“That is well,” said he. “It matters not whether we go to France or the Pole, so I breathe some freer air than this of England. Let us start now. We must not go together. I will take the wherry while you go by land.”
“First,” said I, “put on this cast-off suit of mine, which I thought to give away to a beggar man, once; but thank Heaven I did not.”
“You give it to a beggar now,” said he, “and I thank you, Humphrey, for a gift I never expected to take from you.”
Then we hid the dead carter’s clothes in the river; and, not long after, a skiff put out from shore with a big ’prentice lad in it, who rowed lazily Bridgewards.
I stood watching him, when, suddenly, the outer door opened, and a company of the watch trooped in.
“Good e’en to you, Master Dexter,” said the leader of them, whose head I had once chanced to break, and who had been monstrous civil to me ever since. “We must search this house, by your leave.”
“What for?” I asked.
“For villains and lurchers,” said he, “and if you keep any such in hiding, you had best speak and save trouble.”
“Wert thou not on a good service,” said I, blustering, “I would knock some of your heads together for supposing I harboured villains. The only villains in this place are some of you, sirs. What do you take me for?”
“Nevertheless,” said the leader, “we must look round. And, if there be naught to find, there is naught for thee to fear, Master Humphrey.”
“You must bring twice your number before I shake in my shoes at you,” said I. “Come, look where you will, and, when you have found them, I pray you let me have a sight of the rogues.” And I went on with my printing.
Of course they found naught. But I, as I stood at the press, could see from the window far down the river a boat lolling on the stream, and thanked Heaven all this had not fallen an hour earlier.
They searched upstairs and downstairs, in the wet cellar, and in the maiden’s chamber. They peeped in the cupboards, and up the chimneys, and put their heads out on the roof. Then, when they were satisfied, I asked would they like to spy in my pockets, whereat they departed somewhat ruffled, and left me to breathe again.
Late that night I stood on board the Miséricorde. The captain was on the look-out for me.
“By your leave,” said he, “you be none too early, comrade. Your fellow ’prentice,”—here he gave me a knowing look—“hath been here this hour, and is in his berth.”
So I went below, and there lay Ludar sound asleep in a hammock, in the very cabin where he and I had lain once before.
About midnight I could hear the grinding of the anchor chain at the bows, which was music to my ears, as was the heavy trampling on deck, and the shouting, and the dabbling of the water at the ports. Amidst it all, I too fell asleep; and when I woke and stood next day on deck, I could see on our right the sullen forts on the Medway, and, behind, the long, low, green line of the Essex mud banks.
Ludar was there before me, pacing restlessly with troubled brow. The joy of his freedom had vanished before the sad memories which crowded the ship.
“Humphrey,” said he, presently, “when and where is all this to end? How does it bring us nearer to our heart’s desires?”
“Indeed,” said I, with a sigh, “’tis a long way round. Yet, patience; the farther East the nearer West.”
He looked at me, as much as to say he knew I was not such a fool as my words showed me.
“And after Rochelle,” said he, “what then?”
“Time enough when we are there,” said I.
Time enough, indeed!