"Lie down an' bide quiet a bit, maäster," repeated the first.
"What? Will you not take my word for it?" I shouted, raising myself on my elbow. "I am Humphrey Markham, of Hopton's Regiment, now in camp at Lostwithiel." And as I proceeded briefly with my tale, I saw the look of incredulity on the men's faces give place to expressions of astonishment.
"Put your hellum hard up," shouted Dick to the steersman. "And let we get back as fast as us can. 'Twould ha' been a sorry pass if we hadna taken the broad pieces from they afore us started."
"You'll not be from Carnwall, young maäster?" asked one of the fishermen.
"No, from Hamptonshire," I replied. "But I know several people in Cornwall, and my greatest friend is Master Ralph, or, rather, Sir Ralph Granville, of Tregetty."
"I knows Tregetty well," said Dick. "Two brothers o' we were on th' estate. But why Sir Ralph? I thought as 'twas Sir Bevil."
"Sir Bevil has fallen in the fight with twenty of his followers," I replied.
"Fifty curses o' St. Winnow on the rebels," exclaimed the Cornishman, shaking his fist in the direction of the invisible English coast. "But, ne'er mind, young maäster, a frien' o' Sir Ralph be a friend o' we; us'll put ye ashore safe an' sound."
"Breeze be freshenin', Dick," shouted the man at the tiller. "'Twill be as much as us can do to make Plymouth."
"Keep her at it as close as she'll lie," replied Dick, giving a swift glance to windward. "One port's as good as another to we, for a bit."