Darnley; or, The Field of the Cloth of Gold

by G. P. R. James

Sir Osborne gazed out of the little window in the stern, noticing the various villages that they passed on their way down, till the palace at Greenwich, and the park sweeping up behind, met his eye, together with many a little object associated with hopes, and feelings, and happiness gone by, recalling most painfully all that expectation had promised and disappointment had done away. It was too much to look upon steadily; and turning from the sight, he folded his arms on the table, and burying his eyes on them, remained in that position till the master descending told him that they were now free from all danger.

On this information, the knight gladly mounted the ladder, and paced up and down the deck, enjoying the free air, while Longpole jested with Master Skippenhausen, teasing him the more, perhaps, because he saw that the seaman had put on that sort of surly, domineering air which the master of a vessel often assumes the moment his foot touches the deck, however gay and mild he may be on shore. Nevertheless, as we are now rapidly approaching that part of this book wherein the events become more thronged and pressing, we must take the liberty of leaving out all the long conversation which Vonderbrugius reports as having taken place between Skippenhausen and Longpole, as well as a very minute and particular account of a sail down the river Thames, wherewith the learned professor embellishes his history, and which, though doubtless very interesting to the Dutch burgomasters and their wives, of a century and a half ago, would not greatly edify the British public of the present day, when every cook-maid steps once a-year into the steam-packet, and is paddled down to Margate, with less trouble than it took an Englishman of the reign of Harry the Eighth to go from Charing cross to Lombard Street.

The wind was in their favour, and the tide running strongly down, so that passing, one by one, Woolwich, Purfleet, Erith, Gravesend, and sundry other places, in a few hours they approached near the ocean limits of the English land; while the river, growing mightier and mightier as it rolled on, seemed to rush towards the sea with a sort of daring equality, rather a rival than a tributary, till, meeting its giant sovereign, it gave vent to its pride in a few frothy waves; and then, yielding to his sway, poured all its treasures in his bosom.

Before they had reached the mouth of the river, they beheld a vessel which had preceded them suddenly take in sail and lie-to under the lee of the Essex shore; the reason of which was made very evident the moment after, by the vane at the mast-head wheeling round, and the wind coming in heavy squalls right upon their beam. The Dutchman's ship was not one at all calculated to sail near the wind; and paying little consideration to the necessity of Sir Osborne's case, he followed the example of the vessel before him, and gave orders for taking in sail and lying-to, declaring that the gale would not last. The knight remonstrated, but he might as well have talked to the wind itself. Skippenhausen was quite inflexible, not even taking the pains to answer a word, and, contenting himself with muttering a few sentences in high Dutch, interspersed with various objurgatory addresses to the sailors.

Whether the worthy Hollander's conduct on this occasion was right, proper, and seaman-like, we must leave to some better qualified tribunal than our own weak noddle to determine, professing to be most profoundly ignorant on nautical affairs; but so the matter stood, that the knight was obliged to swing one whole night in an uncomfortable hammock in an uncomfortable ship, in the mouth of the river Thames, with a bitter fancy resting on his mind, that this waste of time was quite unnecessary, and that with a little courage and a little skill on the part of the master, he might before the next morning have been landed at Dunkirk, to which city he was to be safely carried, according to his agreement with the Dutchman.

By daybreak the next morning the wind was rather more favourable, and at all events by no means violent, so that the vessel was soon once more under way. Still, however, they made but little progress; and even the ship that was before them, though a faster sailer and one that could keep nearer the wind, made little more way than themselves. While in this situation, trying by a long tack to mend their course, with about the distance of half-a-mile between them and the other vessel, they perceived a ship-of-war apparently run out from the Essex coast some way to windward, and bear down upon them with all sail set.

"Who have we here, I wonder?" said the knight, addressing Skippenhausen, who had been watching the approaching vessel attentively for some minutes.

"'Tis an English man-of-war," replied the master, "Coot now, don't you see the red cross on her flag? By my life, she is making a signal to us! It must be you she is wanting, my lord; for on my life I have nothing contraband but you aboard. I will not understand her signal, though; and as the breeze is coming up, I will run for it. Go you down in the cabin and hide yourself."

"I will go down," replied the knight. "But hide myself I will not; I have had too much of it already."

Skippenhausen, who, as we before hinted, had by the long habit of smuggling in a small way acquired a taste for the concealed and mysterious, tried in vain to persuade the knight to hide himself under a pile of bedding. On this subject Sir Osborne was as deaf as the other had been the night before, in regard to proceeding on their voyage; and all the concession that the master could obtain was that the two Englishmen would go below and wait the event, while he tried, by altering his course and running before the wind, to weary the pursuers, if they were not very hearty in the cause.