“Now,” said he, “tell me how you know Captain Laud is dead?”
“Captain Luff told me so.”
“And is that all you know of it? Have you no other proof?”
“Yes; I have the captain’s watch, which Luff gave to me, and the case of it has his true-love’s name engraved in the inside. The watch is in the old plum-tree box, in the cupboard.”
The young man eagerly examined the spot. He found the box, and in it the watch, with both names engraved on the inside of the case, shining as bright, and the engraving as sharp, as if it had been executed only that very day. “William Laud and Margaret Catchpole,” round the interior circumference, and “June 1st, 1794,” with a wreath of victory surrounding it, in the centre.
“All this is correct, as you say; but how did he die?”
“Well, I will tell you all I know. Captain Luff (if you do not know him, I do) is a most desperate fellow; a price is set upon his head, dead or alive, so that it be but taken. Well, he murdered the poor girl whose name is written in the watch; and I firmly believe that he murdered Captain Laud too! Towards the close of the last year I was upon Sudbourn Heath, keeping my sheep, and who should I meet but Captain Luff, who accosted me with this question:—
“‘Have you seen my young commander, Captain Laud, pass this way?’
“Well, it was a curious question, and quite natural too; for about six o’clock that very morning, as I was taking my sheep out of the fold, who should pass by me but the gallant young fellow whom he inquired after? Singularly enough he asked after Luff, and whether I knew if he was upon the coast. I told him that I had not had any signals lately; but that some of the crew were ashore, and were staying at the Mariner’s Compass, at Orford. Well, I told Luff the same as I now tell you; and he no sooner received the intelligence, than with all the eagerness of a blood-hound when he touches upon the scent of his victim, he was off for Orford in a moment. Well, I thought this was all for old acquaintance’ sake, or for business; so I rather rejoiced in the adventure. That very night I had made an appointment to take some game; and as I went up the Gap Lane, leading to the Heath, I heard angry words, and soon found the two captains at variance. I had no wish, as you may suppose, to interfere with their strife, so I quietly laid myself up in the ferns. It was a dreadful sound to hear the thunder of those two men’s voices. How they cursed each other! At length I heard the report of two pistols, and one of the balls passed within a yard of my head, but as for blows, I could not count them. They fought each other like two bull-dogs, I should say for near an hour, till I heard the snap and jingle of a broken sword, and then one of them fled. I found the broken part of the blade next morning close to the spot. It was red with blood; and the marks of feet in the sand were as numerous as if twenty men had been contending. I found drops of blood sunk into the sand all the way down the lane, until you come to the marshes: here I lost the track. I have seen no more of Laud since. But what makes me think that he was killed by Luff on that night is the after-behaviour of the captain. About two months after this occurrence I received a signal from the North Vere; and who should it be but Luff. Well, he came home to my cottage, and as we sat together I said, by way of a sounder, ‘Where’s Captain Laud?’
“‘What makes you ask that question?’ says he, hastily and fiercely. ‘Have you any particular reason for asking me after him? Speak out at once,’ says he,—’ speak out; have you heard anything about him?’