When the sun had sunk halfway down the flag-staff, the Captain's wishes were crowned by the arrival of a brace of visiters.
The first of these was Garret Weasel, the publican, a thin, small man, in a suit of gray; of a timid carriage and slender voice. He might have been observed for a restless, undefinable eye which seemed to possess the habitual circumspection of a tapster to see the need of a customer; and this expression was sustained by a rabbit-like celerity of motion which raised the opinion of his timidity. There was an air of assentation and reverence in his demeanour, which, perhaps, grew out of the domestic discipline of his spouse, a buxom dame with the heart of a lioness. She had trained Master Garret to her hand, where he might have worn out his days in implicit obedience, had it not luckily fallen out for him, that Captain Dauntrees had settled himself down in this corner of the New World. The Captain being a regular trafficker in the commodities of the Crow and Archer, and no whit over-awed by the supremacy of mine hostess, soon set himself about seducing her worse-half from his allegiance, so far as was necessary, at least, to satisfy his own cravings for company at the fort. He therefore freely made himself the scapegoat of Garret's delinquencies, confiding in the wheedling power of his tongue, to pacify the dame. With all the tapster's humility and meekness, he still followed the Captain through his irregularities with the adhesiveness and submission of a dog—carousing on occasion like a man of stouter mould, and imitating the reveller-tone of his companion with an ambitious though not always successful zeal. He did not naturally lack merriment; but it was not of the boisterous stamp: there was, at his worst outbreak, a glimmering of deference and respect, rising up to a rickety laugh, and a song sometimes, yet without violent clamour; and the salt tears were often wrung from his eyes by the pent-up laughter which his vocation and his subordinate temper had taught him it was unseemly to discharge in a volley.
His companion was a tall, sinewy, and grave person, habited in the guise of a forester—a cap, namely, of undressed deer skin, a buff jerkin, guarded by a broad belt and buckle at the waist, and leggings of brown leather. This was a Fleming, named Arnold de la Grange, who belonged to the corps of wood rangers in the service of the Lord Proprietary. He had arrived in the province in the time of Lord Cecilius, many years before, and had shared much of the toil of the early settlement. His weather-beaten and gaunt form, tawny cheek, and grizzled hair, bespoke a man inured to the hard service of a frontier life, whilst his erect port and firm step, evinced that natural gracefulness which belongs to men trained to the self-dependence necessary to breast the ever-surrounding perils of such a service. He was a man of few words, and these were delivered in a Low Dutch accent, which his long intercourse with the English had failed to correct. When his service on his range was intermitted, Arnold found quarters amongst the retainers of the Proprietary mansion, and the Proprietary himself manifested towards the forester that degree of trust, and even affection, which resulted from a high sense of his fidelity and conduct, and which gave him a position of more privilege than was enjoyed by the other dependents of the establishment. Being, at these intervals, an idler, he was looked upon with favour by the Captain of the fort, who was not slow to profit by the society of such a veteran in the long watches of a dull afternoon. By a customary consequence, Arnold was no less esteemed by the publican.
A bluff greeting and short ceremony placed the visiters at the table, and each, upon a mute signal from the host, appropriated his cup and pipe.
"You are never a true man, Garret Weasel," said the Captain, "to dally so long behind your appointment; and such an appointment, too! state matters would be trifles to it. The round dozen which you lost to me on Dame Dorothy's head gear—a blessing on it!—you did yourself so order it, was to be broached at three of the clock; and now, by my troth, it is something past four. There is culpable laches in it. Idleness is the canker of the spirit, but occupation is the lard of the body, as I may affirm in my own person. Mistress Dorothy, I suspect, has this tardy coming to answer for. I doubt the brow of our brave dame hath been cloudy this afternoon. How is it, Arnold? bachelor, and Dutchman to boot, you will speak without fear."
"The woman," replied Arnold, in a broken English accent, which I do not attempt to convey in syllables, "had her suspicions."
"Hold ye, Captain Dauntrees," eagerly interrupted the innkeeper, drawing up his chair to the table—for he had seated himself a full arms-length off, in awkward deference to his host; "and hold ye, Master Arnold! my wife rules not me, as some evil-minded jesters report: no, in faith! We were much beset to-day. In sooth I could not come sooner. Customers, you know, Captain, better than most men, customers must be answered, and will be answered, when we poor servants go athirst. We were thronged to-day; was it not so, Arnold?"
"That is true," replied the forester; "the wife had her hands full as well as Garret himself. There were traders in the port, to-day, from the Bay Shore and the Isle of Kent, and some from the country back, to hear whether the brigantine had arrived. They had got some story that Cocklescraft should be here."
"I see it," said Dauntrees; "that fellow, Cocklescraft, hath a trick of warning his friends. He never comes into port but there be strange rumours of him ahead; it seems to be told by the pricking of thumbs. St. Mary's is not the first harbour where he drops his anchor, nor Anthony Warden the first to docket his cargo. You understand me."
"You have a bold mind, Captain," said the publican; "you men of the wars speak your thoughts."