“Aye, Captain, I think so, if you have a dozen fellows of the right English stuff between decks.”
“We have got that number, and one or two more. But what’s the plan?”
Peter told him.
“Not so bad,” said Smith, slapping his heavy hand upon his knee; “but risky—very risky. That Inez must be a good girl. I should like to marry her, notwithstanding her bygones.”
Peter laughed, thinking what an odd couple they would make. “Hear the rest, then talk,” he said. “See now! On Saturday next Mistress Margaret and I are to be married in the cathedral; then, towards sunset, the Marquis of Morella and I run our course in the great bull-ring yonder, and you and half a dozen of your men will be present. Now, I may conquer or I may fail——”
“Never!—never!” said the captain. “I wouldn’t give a pair of old boots for that fine Spaniard’s chance when you get at him. Why, you will crimp him like a cod-fish!”
“God knows!” answered Peter. “If I win, my wife and I make our adieux to their Majesties, and ride away to the quay, where the boat will be waiting, and you will row us on board the Margaret. If I fail, you will take up my body, and, accompanied by my widow, bring it in the same fashion on board the Margaret, for I shall give it out that in this case I wish to be embalmed in wine and taken back to England for burial. In either event, you will drop your ship a little way down the river round the bend, so that folk may think that you have sailed. In the darkness you must work her back with the tide and lay her behind those old hulks, and if any ask you why, say that three of your men have not yet come aboard, and that you have dropped back for them, and whatever else you like. Then, in case I should not be alive to guide you, you and ten or twelve of the best sailors will land at the spot that this gentleman will show you to-morrow, wearing Spanish cloaks so as not to attract attention, but being well armed underneath them, like idlers from some ship who had come ashore to see the show. I have told you how you may know Master Castell. When you see him make a rush for him, cut down any that try to stop you, tumble him into the boat, and row for your lives to the ship, which will slip her moorings and get up her canvas as soon as she sees you coming, and begin to drop down the river with the tide and wind, if there is one. That is the plot, but God alone knows the end of it! which depends upon Him and the sailors. Will you play this game for the love of a good man and the rest of us? If you succeed, you shall be rich for life, all of you.”
“Aye,” answered the captain, “and there’s my hand on it. So sure as my name is Smith, we will hook him out of that hell if men can do it, and not for the money either. Why, Peter, we have sat here idle so long, waiting for you and our lady, that we shall be glad of the fun. At any rate, there will be some dead Spaniards before they have done with us, and, if we are worsted, I’ll leave the mate and enough hands upon the ship to bring her safe to Tilbury. But we won’t be—we won’t be. By this day week we will all be rolling homewards across the Bay with never a Spaniard within three hundred miles, you and your lady and Master Castell, too. I know it! I tell you, lad, I know it!”
“How do you know it?” asked Peter curiously.
“Because I dreamed it last night. I saw you and Mistress Margaret sitting sweet as sugar, with your arms around each other’s middles, while I talked to the master, and the sun went down with the wind blowing stiff from sou-sou-west, and a gale threatening. I tell you that I dreamed it—I who am not given to dreams.”