CHAPTER XIII I SAIL FOR VIRGINIA
It was near midnight when my door opened again. I was still in the chair by the table, where I had seated myself when I had left them outside, staring vacantly at the place opposite, where she had sat so lately. Only a few brief minutes before her dress had pressed yonder chair; her elbow had touched the table; it was still wet with her tears.
"Bobby," I said, arising as he entered, "I need not say that I am glad to see thee; it seems like ages since we roamed London together."
He seated himself opposite and looked at me. I saw no change in him since we had been together twenty-two months before, save perhaps a few wrinkles about his forehead, otherwise he was still the same frank, sincere friend.
"Thou hast changed," he said at length.
"I know it," I replied, "but thou hast heard of my adventures."
"Yes," he answered, with a ringing laugh. "The Lady Margaret told me of them. I marvel not that the Queen did not believe thee—it is almost beyond belief."
"Bobby," I said, "often have I thought of thee in the long nights and wished to see thy face. I had not thought sometimes to see it again."
He looked up at me, his eyes moist.
"I have searched far and wide for thee, everywhere that I could think of, but it was as though thou hadst been caught up in the clouds; nowhere could I find a trace of thy whereabouts. I had almost given up hope."
"Dunraven was at the bottom of it," I said. "He thought that, with me out of the way, he could win Margaret, but I thank Heaven that his plans have miscarried, and that she has bestowed her love upon a noble gentleman of worth and merit. Old friend, this is no time for concealment or coldness between us—from the bottom of my heart I congratulate thee, and wish thee joy!" and I held out my hand to him.
He took it, and squeezed it between both of his own.
"Thank thee, old man," he said huskily. "None but a heart of true steel such as thine could bear this grief so nobly. But I fear that thou art mistaken, for never has the lady given me any cause to think that she regarded me as more than a friend; thou hast misinterpreted her words."
"No," I answered, "she loves thee; she as good as told me that. What didst thou expect—that the lady would propose to thee?" I smiled at him. "Pluck up courage, good sir, make one brave charge, and the field is thine."
"I would I thought so," he said doubtfully.
"But," I said, "'faint heart ne'er won fair lady.' Put on a bold front, I have never found thee timid; corner her and force her to listen to thee."
He looked at me, his face flushed and happy.
"And thou dost think of me with thyself at death's door!" he cried, "while I sit here like a mummy. Listen—old Sir Henry DeGray thinks much of thee, as thou dost know, and he has consented to aid us in thy escape. The plan is this. After I have left, dost thou wait about fifteen minutes, then beat upon the door. The man who will open it is drunk. Knock him down, take his keys away from him, and put him in thy place; then don his cloak and walk boldly out into the hall. Sir Henry awaits thee there. Say nothing, but follow him to the door. I shall be outside and will guide thee to where Governor White lies at anchor in the Thames, ready to set sail for the golden Virginia. Once over there thou art safe, and canst remain until the coast is clear here; then thou canst return to England."
"'Tis a bold scheme, Bobby, and I thank thee. But why should I go? Life holds naught so precious for me, that I should cling to it so strongly. There is nothing for me beyond the seas, in that strange and barbarous land, with its painted savages and fierce beasts of prey. What could I do, should I reach it alive? No, leave me to my fate—and go!"
"Thomas!" he cried, "if thou carest not for thyself, think of thy friends. Spare me this last blow—spare me, or I shall go mad! Think of Margaret, and for her sake go," and he stretched out his hands imploringly to me.
Silence reigned in the little room. I was thinking of her; what would she care? Why should I go out into a strange and unknown land to begin life anew, with no one besides me save only the Indians and wild beasts; to drag out a few miserable years of pain and sorrow. A life such as this was not worth the effort—no, the game was not worth the candle.
"Thou dost not know what thou askest of me," I replied finally. "What would a life such as this mean? It would be a living death. Better one quick leap and then forgetfulness and oblivion. As for Margaret, why should she care?"
"Thou art mad," he replied, "that thou talkest thus. It will be only for a few months among new scenes and men; 'twill be a diversion for thy mind. As for my lady, thou hast no right to speak thus. Thou dost not know how much she cares; in truth, as I led her home she wept as though her heart would break, and she implored me to save thee as I left her."
"And so thou dost beseech me to leave England, so that I may be out of the way," I answered bitterly.
"Thomas!" he cried reproachfully, "I have not deserved this at thy hands—as God is my witness, I have not. I have ever loved thee as a brother, and there has been no time when I would not have given my life to have saved thee, and yet thou reproachest me thus. Truly those we love most are the first to turn their backs upon us."
"Forgive me, Bobby!" I cried penitently. "My grief has almost turned my brain, and I know not what I say. I did not mean to offend thee, and would beg thy pardon."
"Then go," he answered, pacing the floor in his excitement. "A few more minutes and the watch will be changed, and 'twill be too late. Come! for my sake if thou lovest me; for Margaret's sake; for the sake of thy old friends, whom thou didst once know and cherish." And he turned to me with a look of entreaty upon his face.
"If thou dost put it thus," I said, "I will go. It matters little where I drag out the few remaining years left to me. For thy sake I will go."
"Good!" he cried joyfully. "Remember what I have told thee. I will wait for thee on the outside. I pray that our plans may not miscarry. Be brave, and fear naught. I must hurry," and he opened the door and left me.
I could hear the sound of his feet upon the floor as he walked rapidly down the hall. I waited in silence a few minutes, then with both fists I pounded upon the door, and kicked upon it with my heels.
An unsteady voice answered me from the outside:
"What-cher-want? Can't-yer-be-quiet?" and then a hiccough.
"Open!" I cried. "I have a sovereign for thee if thou wilt do an errand for me."
I heard him fumbling with the lock, and then opening the door, he thrust his head inside, and gazed carefully around the room from the ceiling to the floor, until finally his eyes fell upon me, as I stood within three feet of him.
"What-yer-want?" he muttered again. "Can't-yer-lemme-sleep?" And a threatening look came over his drunken face.
"I have a dozen bright gold pieces for thee," I said. "Come inside and thou shalt have them," and I thrust my hand into my pocket, as though to draw them out.
He lurched inside and towards me, his hand outstretched. "Lemme-have-em," he cried in tipsy glee.
With a bound I caught him by the throat and threw him upon the floor. With his own doublet and some of the bedding I swiftly and quietly bound him hand and foot and gagged him. Then picking up his helpless body in my arms, I threw it upon the bed as though he were a bundle of goods.
"Listen," I said in a low voice, my face within a foot of his own; "make but one sound or attempt to escape, and I will kill thee, for I am just outside."
Unbuckling the belt around his waist, in which hung a long dagger, I fastened it around my own, and picking up his dark cloak and steel cap, which had fallen upon the floor when I sprang upon him, I prepared to take my departure.
One last look at the bound man upon the bed—yes, he was secure. A sudden thought struck me: where were the keys? There were only a few in his doublet, but they were small ones, evidently to the doors of the cells. Nowhere could I find those which belonged to the great front door, nor to the doors which led into each corridor. Well I must trust to chance for my salvation; I would make the attempt, I could do no more.
Crossing over to the door which stood slightly ajar, the key still in the lock, I pushed it open and stood in the corridor, which was deserted. I turned the key in the lock, thrust it into my pocket, and with the cloak around my face, strode down the hall. The long passage seemed to re-echo my footsteps as though I trod with feet of mail. It seemed to me that all must know a prisoner was escaping. The very walls seemed to cry "Stop!—stop!" to me as I trod by; my heart beat as though it would burst. The jailer must hear its muffled beat—but no sound greeted my ears, as I kept steadily on my way and stood at the first heavy door that barred my passage.
My feeling of terror had left me, and I felt a strange exultation. If I should escape from this black hole, I would be the first for many a year. Of the many who entered its gloomy portals, few ever left them alive again. They were doomed to pass their days in some dark dungeon within its recesses, shut off from the world and all it contained.
I beat with the hilt of my dagger upon the iron-studded panel.
"Open!" I cried.
The growl of old Sir Henry answered me.
"Is it thee, Jack? Thou scoundrel! Thou shouldst have been here an hour ago. What kept thee so long, thou dog? I will lash that lazy hide of thine," and grumbling to himself he unlocked the door. "Why stand like a struck boar?" he shouted at me. "Thou fool! hast thou all night to stand there?"
And with a curse he locked the door again, and strode away with me at his heels, leaving the man who had stood by him during his brief monologue staring after us as we left him. He walked at a rapid gait, I at his heels, down the long passage, speaking never a word. We passed several guards lounging in the hall, who straightened up, all attention, as we neared them. Evidently the old soldier kept his men under strict discipline.
As we neared a little knot of guards, he cried out:
"Come on, thou fool, I will teach thee to sleep at thy post again! I will tear the very flesh from thy bones!" And with that he unlocked the door which barred our passage, and passing the man who stood beside it, he kept on down the hall. I could hear the men on the other side mutter to themselves as it swung to, but what they said I could not catch.
We were alone now in the hall, no one was in sight of us. Peering around him the old warrior halted a moment, and turning to me, one eye closed, he winked; then with a growl, he resumed his journey. Several more doors we unlocked and passed through, meeting a dozen little groups of men in the hall, but Sir Henry said not a word, only as we neared them, he would curse me for my tardiness and laziness, and swear to tear me limb from limb.
With my cap pulled down over my face and wrapped in the great dark cloak, I followed him, my head bowed as though in dejection and fear; and so we traversed the great building, until finally we stood at the huge door that led out into the open air, where he halted. There was no one there, and unbolting it, he motioned for me to walk out.
"Forget not to deliver the message that I gave thee to Lord Pendleton," he said, in a loud tone of voice, for the benefit of any who might chance to see us, "thou dog, and waste no time about it, or I will trounce thee well with my stirrup—begone!" And with a kindly look upon his old face, he pushed the door to, and I heard the chain rattle as he secured it.
I stood alone in the low courtyard of the prison, the cold night air blowing against my face. Carefully I picked my way over the uneven stones, with which the yard was paved, until I reached the gate which led into the street. It was unlocked, and opening it, I stood once more upon the street of London—free.
A man started from the shadow of the wall, and came toward me, his head muffled in his cloak; as he neared me, I saw that it was Bobby.
"I had almost given thee up," he whispered. "But come, we have no time to lose. It will be only a few hours at the most until they discover thy escape, and they will search all England thoroughly for thee." And catching me by the arm, he hurried me down the street.
"Where art thou going?" I asked in a low tone of voice.
"To the river," he answered. "I have a fleet boat there, and we will row down to where Governor White lays. He has consented to conceal thee for a day or two, until he gets out of England, and then thou canst reveal thyself, for it will not matter then. He is under great obligations to Raleigh, and I persuaded Sir Walter to ask this of him; it was the only way we could save thee, and White would cut off his right hand for Walter."
Down the dark streets we hurried; I could hear Bobby panting as he rushed along. This was violent exercise for one who had lived an idle life for years. Every moment I expected the dark tower behind us to twinkle with lights and ring with shouts, as they discovered my flight and made haste to pursue me. But no sound came from its black depths; it lay still and gloomy. We passed only a few belated nighthawks and wayfarers, as they staggered home after a night of revelry, and they endeavored to give us a wide berth, for we were two able-bodied men, and they cared not to tackle us.
Finally, turning into a dark lane, we stood by the river's brink. Bobby, putting his fingers to his lips, gave a shrill whistle; an answer floated back from the dark water, and I heard the sound of oars as a boat came forward to us.
"It is manned by four tenants from my estate near London," he whispered. "True as steel they are; rather would they be cut to pieces, than to say one word of to-night's work."
The boat swept up to the dark wharf where we stood.
"Careful," he muttered, "watch where thou dost step. Do thou go first," and he motioned towards the boat.
I stepped down into it and he followed. Without a sound the men pushed off, and bent to their work with a will; the little boat hummed through the water. I could not see the faces around me, only four dark forms, pulling with all their strength upon the oars. They rowed on in silence, uttering no sound as we passed through the twinkling lights where the vessels lay at anchor, rising and falling with the tide.
Behind us stretched the city; before us the silent river, and I knew not what beyond that. God only knew when I would see England again; an exile, with only one true friend beside me, I was hurrying from London like a thief, from the land where I had been born and reared. Engaged with such thoughts as these, I sat silent and moody; beside me Bobby, his face upon his hand, sat as preoccupied as myself. We had left the ships now, and were pulling down the river, with no glimmer of light in sight.
"Where art thou going, Bobby?" I asked. "Thou hast left all of the ships behind thee, and art making down the river."
He roused himself and looked around him.
"Where art thou going, Bill?" he cried. "This is not where the vessel lies," and he bent forward to peer at the silent figure near him. As he did so he sprang to his feet, his sword in hand. "What have we here?" he shouted in alarm. "This is not my boat!"
I was just about to rise beside him, dagger in hand, when from the stern of the boat, among some oilskins and packages, a man arose. At the first sound of his voice I was up, for I knew the curt, ironical tones.
"My dear gentlemen, pray be seated," he said. "You are my guests, and I beg that you be not alarmed; I will watch over you well." With a mocking smile upon his face, stood Lord Dunraven.
The men had dropped their oars and sprang up to overpower us. As one hardy mariner caught my left arm with both hands, I raised my dagger and plunged it full into his brawny breast; with a groan he rolled down at my feet, knocking down his companion in his fall. Bobby was struggling in the grasp of the other two men behind me; Dunraven was coming at me with drawn sword—there was no time to be lost. The seaman who had been knocked down struggled to his knees. I raised my foot, and kicked him full in the face, with all my might. With a cry of pain he fell back, and I, losing my balance, sprawled over him as he went down.
I heard Dunraven's sword whistle over my head as I fell; it would have caught me full in the throat had I not done so. He stumbled for an instant as, carried away by the force of his blow, he sought to recover himself. Leaning forward I caught him by both knees, and rising to my feet, I swung him high over my head a moment, and then cast him far out into the water, as though he had been a log.
The two men had Bobby down in the bottom of the boat, and were tying him securely with ropes, he struggling to release himself. Catching up a cutlass, I sprang forward, and cut at the head of one of them who had turned to meet me. The blade caught him full on the neck, and almost severed his head from his body. He stood erect for an instant, the blood spurting from his throat, and then with an awful yell he went down, both hands clutching blindly at the bottom of the boat in his agony. The other rogue waited for no more, but in an instant was over the side of the boat, and I heard him as with vigorous strokes he swam down the stream.
"Thomas, for Heaven's sake, untie these cords from my arms!" Bobby cried, at my feet. "These rogues have bound me as though they thought I would fall asunder; the cords cut into my flesh like a sword."
Bending over him, I cut the rope with my bloody cutlass, and helped him to his feet.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"God only knows," he answered, "I do not. We will miss the ship!" he cried, wringing his hands. "What a fool I was, not to be sure that I had gotten on board the right boat. Dunraven must have caught wind of my scheme somewhere, and laid this trap into which I walked like an idiot."
"Thou couldst not know it," I answered. "Do not blame thyself. Yonder goes an oar!" And one of the oars, loosed from the socket by the struggle, floated out into the stream. I jumped forward and caught another as it was about to follow suit. "Catch yonder one, Bobby! I shouted, and quickly he did so. Only two remained out of four; one of the others had floated away, probably when the seamen had loosened it.
"Where dost thou say we are?" I asked. "We had best turn back upstream, and make for the ship."
He was standing up, and peered around him.
"I know yonder house," he said finally, pointing out to where a great many-gabled house gleamed far away in the darkness. "'Tis Sir John Norton's house, and it is five miles from where Governor White lies, and the tide is against us; we shall never make it before morning," and he groaned hopelessly.
"Do not despair," I said cheerfully. "Take one of the oars and we will have a try at it. We will go under if we must, but first we will make a game fight," and seating myself, I began to tug at one of the oars.
Years ago I could row, but I had grown older now, and rowing was more difficult to me. Slowly we turned, and began to pull against the tide; it was about three o'clock in the morning, and we had only two hours at the most to make the ship, for she sailed at five o'clock, as Bobby informed me. He, tugging opposite, cursed his luck, as with a groan he bent to his task. Of Dunraven and the sailor we heard nothing. They had disappeared, and the dark river told no secrets.
I shall never forget that night's work, as with aching back I pulled for my life, and not only mine, but for Bobby's as well; for to my repeated offers to put him on shore, and let him strike through the country for his estates, he turned a deaf ear.
"Leave thee to thy death?" he cried indignantly. "No, I have not sunk so low as that. Thou couldst never make the ship alone, and to remain in England is but to invite certain discovery. They will scour all England to find thee, and there is no place that thou couldst remain in safety. No—we will both sink or swim together."
My hands, unaccustomed to the hard work, had blistered, and every stroke gave me pain. The sweat stood in large drops upon my forehead, and ran down my face; my back seemed as though it would break, as I bent to the work; my breath came in quick gasps. Two miles gone—and it was four o'clock. I stopped for an instant, and tearing off the sleeves of my doublet, I handed one in silence to Bobby, and wrapping the other about the handle of my oar, resumed my task.
It was only a question of a few moments with me; we were crawling slowly upstream, the tide beating against us as though in league with Dunraven, and eager to hold us back. It seemed to me that I had rowed always; that I had done naught from my birth but tug with bleeding hands at some heavy oar against the belated tide.
My mind was a blank; I had forgotten all else, save that we must pull three miles in one short hour, or Bobby was lost. In all broad England there was no spot where he could safely lay his head, for the Queen would punish with iron hand one who dared to beard her in her palace, and to pluck from the very gallows a felon whom she had doomed to die.
And so I pulled as though an empire hung upon my efforts. How much longer would this last? Half-past four, and we had pulled a little over a mile, and must rest. Fastening my oar, I threw myself flat upon the bottom of the boat. Bobby fell beside me, and with throbbing hearts we lay there.
Every breath that I drew gave me pain; a mist came before my eyes; the world seemed to whirl and circle in a mad dance about me; the river sucking at the boat seemed to my fevered brain to be a thing of life; the dark trees upon the banks seemed to beckon to me, as though a company of cloaked monks.
Afar down the east, a light streak was beginning to broaden, the sun was about to rise. Aboard the vessel all was bustle and hurry; they were preparing to hoist sail, and at the thought I tottered to my feet, and bent once more to the oar. By hard work we made another mile; it was five o'clock now, and we were still some distance from the ship. There was no use to work longer.
"Bobby," I muttered weakly, "the ship must have gone—let us rest."
"No," he answered, "pull! It will wait for us a moment—pull, man! we may yet reach it," and he redoubled his efforts.
I bent again to the oar, though it seemed as though my exhausted arms would wrench from their sockets at each stroke. Around me danced the river; the roar of the ocean was in my ears; little specks of fire glimmered in front of my very eyes. How long was a mile?—a mile—a mile—I had forgotten why we rowed so madly, I only knew that something terrible would befall us did we not reach a place, I knew not where, by five o'clock.
Bobby was speaking:
"It is past five o'clock now, and we are nearly there."
"Yes, nearly there," I repeated vacantly; "nearly there." Where was "there"?
The sun was rising like a ball of flame; red and angry, he was preparing for another day, and he scowled down upon us with threatening look, as though we had wronged him, and he but waited to avenge himself. We turned a curve in the river—there, nearly a quarter of a mile away, by the side of a dock lay a great vessel, her decks alive with men. She was about to spread her white sails, and fly out into the trackless ocean; even as we looked, she came slowly around, and, the wind filling her great sheets of canvass, began to move slowly through the water.
Bobby dropped the oar and sprang to his feet.
"It is our ship!" he cried.
And then he raised his voice and shouted with all his might, I joining him, but in vain; we were too weak from our long efforts, and our voices could not reach the ship. I waved my doublet above my head, and Bobby, putting his cap upon his oar, moved it backward and forward, hoping to attract their attention. But no sound came from the vessel, steadily she kept on her way to join her two consorts at the mouth of the river.
The vessel lay below the city, at an old deserted wharf, probably waiting for us, and her going attracted little attention; only a small crowd of people stood upon the wharf, idlers and friends of the adventurers, who had come to say good-by. My companion had thrown himself upon his face on the bottom of the boat and was sobbing like a child. I listlessly kept up my efforts to attract the attention of the vessel, for, though I had despaired of succeeding, I would not desist until it had passed out of sight.
The great ship keeled as she came round to the wind, and lay motionless. A culverin boomed, and lo! a boat put out from her and made for us where we lay. I gave a shout of joy—we were saved.
Vane looked up at my cry of astonishment.
"What is it?" he asked wonderingly. "Art thou mad?"
"We are saved, Bobby!" I cried, and I caught him in my arms and hugged him in delight. "Saved!"
He had arisen, calm again.
"We had best toss these rogues overboard," he said; "their bodies might excite suspicion. We can get into their boat, and turn this adrift; perhaps it will serve to throw our pursuers off the track."
And with my help, he tossed the dead bodies into the river. Two of them were dead, cold, and stiff; the third, whom I had kicked in the face, lay as though dead. We had no time to examine him; alive or dead he must go into the stream, for it would mean certain death to Sir Robert to leave this fellow behind, to tell of his share in my escape. So we cast him overboard.
The boat had neared us; a spare, gaunt man, wrapped in a dark cloak, with a worn, patient face, stood erect in the stern, and as he came in speaking distance, shouted to Bobby.
"What means this, Captain? I expected thy brother an hour ago, and have lost time waiting for you."
"I could not help it, Governor," he answered. "We were set upon by robbers down the river, our men were murdered, and it was only after a hard fight that we saved our lives. We rowed for two hours and more against the stream, as though the furies were at our heels, to catch thy ship."
He said nothing as the boat reached us, and we clambered aboard.
"It is Governor White," Bobby whispered in my ear.
"What wouldst thou have me do with thy boat?" White asked, eying us closely.
"Turn it adrift," I answered. "It has done its work." And leaving it, we pulled towards the spot where the ship lay awaiting us.
"You must have had a time of it," he said. "Your faces are dripping with sweat, and the blood is all over your doublets."
"Such a fight as I have never made before," Bobby replied. "I had given up hope several times, but still we kept on. How camest thou to wait for us?"
"I suspected something of the sort," he answered quietly, "and so we waited for a while. But I had given you up in despair and was about to sail, when one of the sailors spied your boat, and called my attention to it. I knew at once who it was, and so came back to pick you up. But pull, men!" he cried—"pull! We are much delayed as it is."
He was plainly worried, and I did not blame him. All London doubtless knew of my escape by now, and they were scouring the country high and low for me; at any moment we might come upon a party of the searchers, and then good-by for White and his voyage. It was light now, and we could be plainly seen from the banks of the river; the bustle and hum of the city came dimly to our ears. They would probably search the ship before they would let it sail—no wonder White's cheeks were pale.
A few moments, and we neared the ship; a crowd of eager faces peered down at us, sailors and adventurers, men of all sorts and conditions, they jostled and pushed each other, and the hum of their voices reached my ears, as, assisted by two sailors, I stumbled up the ladder, and down into the cabin, followed by Vane. Concealment now was useless, our only safety was in flight. Should our ship be stopped, all on board knew of our arrival, and discovery was inevitable.
White closed the door behind him.
"I am risking much for Walter Raleigh," he said. "We must take to our heels now, and evade them as best we can. Do you both stay below, until I send for you. I will set Sir Robert off at some point further down the river, where he can reach his place without suspicion," and with that he hurried out of the room.
The wind had freshened, and with all her sails set, the vessel flew through the water. We were passing among the shipping docks now, for I could see the sides of the vessels from the little open window where I stood.
A hoarse shout struck my ears—"Stop! in the name of the Queen, I command thee!"
"What is it?" I could hear White answer. "We are delayed, and are making all speed to join our consorts—we cannot stop."
"Thou dost go on at thy peril!" the voice roared. "A prisoner doomed to die has escaped from the Tower, and we are to search each vessel. It will take but a moment, and my orders are to fire on every ship that disobeys. Wait but a moment."
White shouted back: "I will go on a little further down the river, and stop at yonder wharf."
"No!" shouted the man, his voice becoming fainter, for the ship was staggering through the water with the speed of a race horse. "Stop! or I shall fire on thee."
White did not answer, only I heard him urge the men to put on more sail. A moment—then a dull roar, and the culverins crashed, as somewhere behind us they fired. A scornful laugh from the deck. Evidently we were out of range now. Then I heard a cry from above: "The man-of-war is making sail for us!" And there was the sound of hurried steps, as the men ran to and fro upon the deck in fear. If we could only keep this up but for a few minutes, we would soon be upon the high seas. The wind was blowing a very gale, as with every stitch of sail set, the vessel plunged through the water. It was broad daylight now, and every moment was golden to us; at any instant a vessel might block our way, and all would be lost.
Four long hours passed; several merchant vessels had gone by on their way to London, their crews pointing at us and staring in wonder as we dashed on at full speed. One or two had attempted to hail us, but we had paid no attention to their repeated shouts, and had kept steadily down the river. Our pursuer had fallen far behind us and was out of sight; only the rippling Thames lay before us.
A man knocked upon the door and informed us that Governor White awaited us on deck, and we followed him to where White stood, a little apart from his men.
"We have almost reached the ocean," he said as we approached him. "If Sir Robert desires to land, he had best do so now; but say the word and thou shalt go ashore where thou dost wish."
Bobby turned to me.
"I have half a mind to go with thee, Thomas," he said in a low voice. "It would be a change of scene, and I would be company for thee in that strange land."
I shook my head.
"No," I replied, "thy duty is here; there is enough for thy hand to do, without wandering out into an unknown wilderness. Thou must watch over Margaret," I whispered in his ear. "What will she do here at the mercy of Dunraven? No, thou must remain. We have come to the parting of the ways—thine lies in England; mine in distant Virginia. We will walk as best we may, nor murmur though the task seem hard, and dark the way before us. Thy boat awaits thee—we must part."
"Thomas," he replied, "I cannot see thee go thus, for I feel that it will be years before I see thy face again, if ever. That land swarms with hidden dangers and I cannot see thee go alone."
"It is best," I answered. "Thou couldst do no good. Tell the Lady Margaret that I remain as ever her humble servant—and may the good angels watch over you both."
White came forward. "I grieve to interrupt your parting, gentlemen," he said, "but time is precious, for I know not what moment our pursuer will round yonder bend, and cut off our retreat."
"Thou art right," I answered, wringing Bobby by the hand once more. "Over with thee, old friend, and remember all I have said to thee. Keep up a brave heart, and all will be well."
He made no answer; perhaps some thought of what I had been to him choked his voice; he only clasped my hand tighter for an instant.
"Would that I could go with thee," he said brokenly. "I will think of thee often, as thou dost wander in exile beyond the sea," and turning, he descended the ladder into the little boat that awaited him.
Swiftly they carried him to where a great and majestic oak stood overhanging the water, like some forest monarch, with its sturdy head upraised against the sky. I watched him as he sat with bent head, his face turned towards the shore. A few moments and the boat touched the bank. He sprang out; the men had turned back, and with rapid strokes were coming toward the vessel, leaving him standing looking at me as I leaned upon the rail. He was only one hundred yards away, for the river was narrow at this point, and raising my voice, I hailed him.
"Remember the trust I have confided into thy hands," I shouted, "and stand stanch and true."
"I shall not forget," he answered, with a wave of his hand. "It is of thee that I think."
The adventurers were crowding around me with bulging eyes; evidently they were swelling with curiosity as to what this strange occurrence could mean, but they said naught to me. The boat had returned, and with a rush the vessel spread her sails and pursued her journey. I watched as long as I could see the solitary figure, standing by the giant oak, waving his sword at me. Finally I could no longer see the glimmer of the sun upon the steel; only a tiny black speck, and at last that too faded from my view—I had left him.
We passed the mouth of the river and struck the ocean. In front of us, a mile or two away, two vessels rocked and tossed upon the bosom of the Atlantic.
I heard White's voice by my side.
"It is the Dart and the Goodwill," he said, "our two consorts. We will soon overtake them."
Like a seagull that plumes her feathers, ere she takes some long flight across the blue sea, the vessel seemed to hesitate and waver, as though uncertain of her course. Striking the long roll of the surf, she quivered and rocked a moment, and then spreading her wings, she took her departure out into that great unknown—the boundless ocean.