No one was there, however, but two or three of the horse-boys of the hotel, who saluted him with the tidings that all was on board. As he cast his eyes seaward, he saw a large boat returning from a ship at some small distance from the shore, with Ned Dyram in the stern; and in a few minutes after, the active superintendent of the embarkation jumped ashore, with a laugh, saying, "Ah, sir! so you could not trust me! But all is safe, no hide rubbed off, no knees broken, no shoulder shaken; and if they do not kick themselves to pieces before we reach Nieuport, you will have as stout chargers to ride as any in Burgundy. But you are not going to embark yet? The tide will not serve for half an hour; and I have left my saddle-bags at the hostel."
"Well, run quick and get them," replied his master. "I would fain see how all is stowed before we sail."
"And know little about it when you do see," answered Ned Dyram, with his usual rude bluntness, or that which appeared to be such.
Richard of Woodville might feel a little angry at his saucy tone; but it was only a passing emotion, easily extinguished. "I certainly know little of stowing ships, my good friend," he answered, "seeing that I never was in one in my life; but common sense is a great thing, Master Dyram; and I am not likely to be mistaken as to whether the horses are so placed as to run the least chance of hurting themselves or each other. Back to the hostel, then, as I ordered, with all speed; and do not let me have to wait for you."
The last words were spoken in a tone of command, which did not much please the hearer; but there were certain feelings in his breast that rendered him unwilling to offend a master on whom he had no tie of old services; and he therefore hurried his pace away, as long as he was within sight. He contrived to keep Woodville waiting, however, for at least twenty minutes; and as the young gentleman gazed towards the ship, he saw the large and cumbersome sails slowly unfurled, and preparations of various kinds made for putting to sea. His patience was well nigh exhausted, and he had already taken his place in the boat, intending to bid the men pull away, when Ned Dyram appeared, coming down from the inn, and carrying his saddle bags over his arm, while a man followed bearing a heavy coffre.
Richard of Woodville smiled, saying to his yeoman of the stirrup, "I knew not our friend Ned had such mass of baggage, or I would have given him further time."
"He has got his tools there, I doubt," observed the old armourer; "for he is a famous workman, both in steel and gilding, though somewhat new-fangled in his notions."
The minute after Ned Dyram was seated in the boat, the men gave way, and over the calm waters of a sea just rippled by a soft but favourable breeze, she flew towards the ship. All on board were in the bustle of departure; and, before Richard of Woodville had examined the horses, and satisfied himself that everything had been carefully and thoughtfully arranged for their safety, the bark was under weigh. He looked round for Ned Dyram, willing to make up, by some praise of his attention and judgment, for any sharpness of speech on the shore; but the yeomen told him that their comrade had gone below, saying that he was always sick at sea; and the young gentleman, escaping from the crowd and confusion which existed amongst horses and men in the fore part of the vessel, retired to the stern, and took up his position near the steersman, while the cliffs of England, and the tall towers of the castle, with the churches and houses below, slowly diminished, as moving heavily through the water the bark laid her course for the town of Nieuport.
The bustle soon ceased upon the deck; some of the yeomen laid themselves down to sleep, if sleep they might; the rest were down below; the mariners who remained on deck proceeded with their ordinary tasks in silence; the wind wafted them gently along with a soft and easy motion; and the sun, declining in the sky, shone along the bosom of the sea as if laying down a golden path, midway between France and England.
The feeling of parting from home was renewed in the bosom of Richard of Woodville, as he gazed back at the slowly waning shores of his native land, leaning his arms, folded on his chest, upon the bulwark of the stern. He felt no inclination to converse; and the man at the huge tiller seemed little disposed to speak. All was silent, except an occasional snatch of a rude song, with which one of the seamen cheered his idleness from time to time; till at length a sweeter voice was heard, singing in low and almost plaintive tones; and, turning suddenly round, Woodville beheld a female figure, clothed in black, leaning upon the opposite side of the vessel, and gazing, like himself, upon the receding cliffs of England. He listened as she sang; but the first stanza of her lay was done before he could catch the words.