“He was drowned,” said Bassett, gravely; “he never got to land with the others. Eat some of this bread; I had it in my pocket.”
“Is anyone else drowned?” asked Hugh, shuddering.
“No, thank Heaven! And the master has gone off to see if perchance there might be some hut or cottage near where we can get lodging for the night and means of reaching Exeter.”
“Father, you must be spent. Think no more of me. Sit by the fire, and take off your clothes to dry.”
Hugh was almost himself again, although evidently deeply shocked at the death of Jakes, and with the burden on him of remorse for unkind thoughts which is hard to bear. But fire and food comforted them all in some measure, and Andrew came back before long to tell them that he had been lucky enough to reach a serf’s hut not far away, where they could at least find shelter, with hope of a horse.
“You have done everything for us, and have lost more than any,” said Bassett, gratefully.
“Nay, I know not what I have lost yet,” returned the sailor. “The bales of silk and woollen are spoiled; no hope for them. But maybe, if the gale goes down, I may have my boat again. I can put up with the rest.”
When they had rested awhile they made their way up through a sort of gully piercing the red cliffs. This same redstone amazed Hugh, for the pools of rain were crimson to look at, and he had never seen anything like it before. But glad enough he was to turn his back on the wild sea.
“I hate it! I would I might never see it again.”
“Thou wouldst be a poor crusader,” panted Stephen, whose breath was sorely tried by the ascent.