University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

The Sisters.

When Cocklescraft asked for Godfrey's horse on
the night that succeeded the prize-play, the reader
will remember that, as Captain Dauntrees overheard
the conversation, it was accompanied with an avowal
of a purpose to warn an enemy, whose name was not
disclosed, of some premeditated harm which the
speaker designed to inflict.

The broad arrow scratched on the door of the
Collector's dwelling, when discovered on the ensuing
morning, plainly enough referred to the fearful menace
of the seaman, and sufficiently indicated how
bitter was his change of feeling against the peaceful
inmates of the Rose Croft. Mr. Warden attached
but little consequence to the implied threat, nor
troubled himself with measures to guard against the
intended mischief, believing it to be but an ebullition
of that spirit of disaffection which the prompt measures

of the council had already so far rebuked as to
leave but little to apprehend.

Cocklescraft, immediately after returning to the
town from his midnight ride, went on board of his
brigantine, and quietly weighing anchor, set sail down
the river and thence across the Potomac—here some
eight miles wide—and finally, before daylight, made
his way into a small creek on the Virginia shore, a
few miles above Smith's Point, or Cape St. Gregory.
Here his vessel lay sheltered from the observation of
the few boats which passed up and down the Potomac—thus
affording him probable security against
pursuit; whilst, at the same time, the inhabitants of
this region were reputed generally to be friends to
the cause of the Fendalls, and enemies of long standing
to the Proprietary. He had, therefore, only to
make known the colours under which he had lately
taken service, and he might assure himself of stout
partisans in his defence.

On the second night after his arrival at this retreat,
up to which period he had remained ignorant of all
that had transpired in the town in regard to the arrest
of his comrades, he threw a cloak over his
shoulders and taking a common sailor-cap got into
his yawl, which was now rigged with a mast and sail,
and steered for a point on the Maryland shore but a
short distance below the hut of the fisherman. His
motive for this caution, in not approaching nearer to
the town, arose from an apprehension that he might
be watched by the garrison of the Fort, and perhaps
pursued to his lurking place—an apprehension suggested
by that sense of guilt which predominated

over every other feeling, since his desertion of his
late friends and—what weighed with heavier terror
upon his mind—his abandonment of his church. To
avoid this notice he landed near the mouth of
St. Mary's river, and proceeded from that point, on
foot, to the town, a distance of some five or six
miles. In his journey along the beach, he had passed
by the hut of the fisherman, and had crossed the
creek of St. Inigoe's, immediately from the Jesuit
House over to the Collector's landing place, being
enabled to make this passage in the manner detailed
by the Superior to the Lord Proprietary. Upon his
arrival at the Crow and Archer after night, he became
acquainted, for the first time, with the arrest
of the conspirators. This intelligence hastened him
away to hold a short interview with Chiseldine, by
whom he was admonished to tarry as short a time as
possible in the port, as orders were already abroad
for his apprehension. The advice thus timely offered
enabled him to effect a speedy retreat to his boat, by
the same route that he had taken in coming to the
town;—and he was thus saved from the fate that
would have overtaken him, if he had remained an
half hour longer than the moment of the fiddler's
visit to Captain Dauntrees.

Tired of lying perdue so long on the Virginia
shore, he determined to proceed with his brig, first
to St. Jerome's, where he proposed to wait two or
three days to observe the course of events, and then
either to sail abroad or take his course up the Chesapeake,
where, if pursued, he was willing to trust
to the speed of his vessel to baffle all endeavours towards

his arrest. Upon the deck of the Olive Branch,—
or as she has now laid aside her peaceful character
we may call her the Escalfador—he felt himself secure
against annoyance from any naval force at the
disposal of the Proprietary, and this circumstance,
together with a strong confidence in the number of
the disaffected with whom he was associated, inspired
him with an audacity that almost defied the
public authorities even in their own resorts.

With a view to communicate his intended change
of position to his confederates, he made his second
visit to the town pretty nearly in the same manner
that he had accomplished the first. His stay in
the port, however, was longer than on the former
night, and it was consequently after break of day
that he passed the hut of Simon Fluke. On his near
approach to the spot where his skiff awaited him, he
encountered the fisherman, who was lurking upon
his path and who, at the moment they came within
speaking distance, was endeavouring to conceal himself
in a thicket of cedars. Cocklescraft was not a
man to hesitate in the commission of a crime under
any circumstances, and least of all when it concerned
his safety. On the present occasion he did not
stop to parley with the person who waylaid his
footsteps, but obeying the impulse of his habitual
sense of hostility to his kind, and the ferocity of his
nature, he drew a pistol from his girdle and discharged
the contents with such certain effect, that
the fisherman fell dead at his feet without a groan.
He tarried not to look upon the murdered man, nor
to take any concern even for the disposal of the

body,—but leaving it a prey to the wild birds that
hovered near, he stept into his boat with as little
emotion or remorse as if he had despatched some
prowling beast, not caring to inquire who or what
he was that invaded his path.

On the night that followed this adventure the Olive
Branch quitted her temporary harbour, and the next
morning found her secretly ensconced behind a
woody headland, in a nook of St. Jerome's creek,—
about two miles above its mouth, where she lay safe
from the view of all who navigated the Chesapeake.

Cocklescraft began already to feel that he had
joined his new associates in an hour not the most
auspicious to his fortunes. The arrest of the leaders
and the quiet that seemed to prevail throughout the
land, created a doubt in his mind whether any thing
was likely to be achieved in the way that he desired;
and more than once he meditated a retreat from the
province, yet resolved, before he did so, to signalise
the event by some flagrant act of vengeance upon
his enemies. This thought seemed to please him;
and he spent the day in ruminating over schemes of
retribution against those who had of late treated him
with such contumely. Uppermost in his breathings
of hatred was the name of Albert Verheyden, and a
demon smile curled upon his lip when he muttered it.

Such provision as might hastily be made for a
short voyage, now engrossed the attention of his
crew. His armament was put in order; water
taken in, and every thing done,—except the stowing
on board of such commodities as he designed to take
away to other markets,—to prepare him for sailing

within the next twenty-four hours, if occasion should
require.

When night came on, and the rain fell, and the
moon was quenched, and the murky, cheerless atmosphere,
so congenial with the unlawful complexion
of his designs, admonished him how little likely it
was that prying feet or watchful eyes should be
abroad, a revel was held in the Wizard's Chapel.
Amidst the lumber that lay piled in confusion over
the floor of the rude but spacious building, room
was found for a rough table, around which empty
casks, broken boxes and other appropriate furniture
of a smuggler's den, supplied seats sufficient for the
accommodation of twelve or fifteen persons. Here
were assembled the crew of the Escalfador, with an
abundant supply of strong liquors and tobacco. A
fire blazed on the ample hearth, furnishing to such
as desired it the means of cooking, in a simple
fashion, some substantial elements of the evening
meal; an opportunity which was not neglected, as
was apparent from the bones and scraps of broken
victuals which lay scattered about the fire-place, and
from the strong fumes of roasted meat which sent
their savour into every corner of the apartment.

The men who constituted this company, numbering
without their leader full sixteen, were robust,
swarthy seamen,—the greater portion of them distinguished
by the dark olive complexions and curling
black hair which denoted their origin in Portugal or
other parts of the South of Europe. Several wore
rings in the ears and on the fingers, and were bedizened
with strange and outlandish jewelry. The

thick moustache and shaggy brow gave a peculiar
ferocity to more than one of the company, whilst
the close and braided seaman's jacket, gaudy woollen
caps and wide breeches—the common costume of
the crew—imparted a foreign air to the whole group.
Some wore rich girdles with ornamented pistols and
daggers; and the plainest amongst them showed a
knife secured under a leathern belt. Their only attendant
was Kate of Warrington, who grudgingly
answered the frequent call for fresh potations, as the
revellers washed down their coarse mirth with
draughts of brandy and usquebaugh.

Cocklescraft sat, somewhat elevated above the
rest, at the head of the board, where, without carousing
as deeply as his sailors, he stimulated their noisy
jollity by clamorous applause. A witness, rather
than a partaker of this uncouth wassail, was the
Cripple, who having matters of account to settle with
several of the crew before they took their departure,
had now swung himself into a corner where, with a
lighted fagot stuck in the crevice of the wall, he alternately
gave his attention to a pouch containing
his papers of business, and to the revelry of the moment;
chiding the prodigal laughter of the crew,
one moment with querulous reproof, and the next
with a satirical merriment.

“Bowse it lads!” exclaimed Cocklescraft, as he
brandished a cup in his hand; “drain dry to the
Escalfador!—our merry little frigate shall dance to-morrow
on the green wave,—so, do honour to the
last night we spend ashore. Remember, we have a
reckoning to settle before we depart, with the good

folks of St. Mary's. Are you all ready to follow me
in an exploit of rare deviltry?—Speak, boys!”

“Ay, ready, Master Captain!” was the response
in a general shout.

This outburst roused the Cripple, who lifting his
head from the paper, which at that moment he was
perusing, and looking from under his spectacles upon
the crew, was heard to mutter when the shout subsided—“As
ready as wolves to suck the blood of
lambs. How can they be else under thy nursing,
Dickon?”

“Ha, old dry bones, art thou awake? By St.
Iago! I thought that thy leaden eyelids, Rob, had
been sealed before this. Ho, lads, bring Master
Robert Swale forward—we shall treat him as becomes
a man of worship:—upon the table with him,
boys.”

The face of the Cripple grew instantly red, as a
sudden flash of passion broke across it. He dropped
the paper from his hand and drew his dagger;—
then, with a compressed lip and kindling eye, spoke
out—“By St. Romuald! the man that dares to lay
hand on me to move me where it is not my pleasure
to go, shall leave as deep a blood stain on this floor
as flowed from the veins of Paul Kelpy. Who are
you, Dickon Cocklescraft, that you venture to bait
me with your bullies?”

“How now, Master Rob?” exclaimed the Skipper,
as he rose from his seat and approached the Cripple.
“Would'st quarrel with friends? 'Twas but in
honest reverence, and not as against your will, that
I would have had thee brought to the table. Come,

old comrade, we will not be ruffled when we are to
part so soon. What would'st thou have, good
Rob?”

“These bills shall be first paid by your drinking
roysters before they go to sea,” replied the Cripple,
somewhat appeased by the Skipper's manner. “Here
are items of sundry comforts supplied—meat and
drink and lodging;—and here are services of Mistress
Kate both in making and mending;—here for trampling
down my corn, and for killing—”

“Pshaw—a fig's end for thy trampings and killings,
and all this rigmarole of washing and mending!”
interrupted Cocklescraft. “I would be sworn
thy conscience has undercharged thy commodity:—
so, there is enough to content thee for the whole,
with good usury to the back of it,” he said, putting
a well-stored purse of gold into Rob's hand. “Thou
hast ever been too modest in thy dealings, friend
Robert of the Trencher:—when thou gettest older
thou wilt know how to increase thy gear by lawful
gain.”

“A hang-dog—a scape-grace—a kill-cow—a devil's
babe in swaddling bands of iniquity, thou art,
child Dickon!” said Rob, laughing with that bitter,
salt laugh that gave to his countenance the expression
of extreme old age. “Thou dost not lack, with
all thy wickedness, an open hand. I have ever found
thee ready with thy gold. It comes over the devil's
back—Dickon, ha, ha!—over the devil's back,
youngster,—and it goes—you know the proverb.
This closes accounts, so now for your humour, lads.
I will pledge you in a cup.”

“To the table with him, boys,” said Cocklescraft,
nodding his head to those who sat near him; and, in
a moment, the Cripple was lifted up in his bowl and
set, like a huge dish, in the middle of the board,—a
ghastly grin of acquiescence playing all the time
upon his sallow features.

“Fill me a glass of that wine of Portugal,” said
Rob, as soon as he found himself in the centre of
the company. “Here, boys,” he added when the
wine was put in his hand, “here is success to your
next venture, and a merry meeting to count your
gains.”

“Amen to that!” shouted Cocklescraft. “Our
next venture will be a stoop upon the doves of St.
Mary's.”

“And a merry meeting will it be when you count
your gains,” interposed the harsh voice of Kate of
Warrington. “Robert Swale will keep the reckoning
of it.”

“Peace, old woman,” said Cocklescraft, sharply;
“your accursed croaking is ever loudest when least
welcome.”

“Fill for me,” cried out Roche del Carmine, in his
Portuguese accent. “I will pledge the Captain and
our company, with `His Lordship's Secretary,'—we
owe him a debt which shall be paid in the coin of the
Costa Rica.”

“Bravo,—A la savanna, perros!—Huzza, boys,—
shout to that!” clamoured Cocklescraft, at the top
of his voice. “Drink deep to it, in token of a deep
vengeance! I thank you, Master Roche, for this
remembrance. Now, comrades, you have but half

an hour left before you must depart to bring down
the brigantine to the mouth of the creek. A pipe
and a glass more—and then away: so, too it roundly,
and make profit of your time!—Tobacco, Mistress
Kate,—fill Master Swale's pipe first, and then
mine:—make the bottle stir, my merry men all!”

Having thus given a new spur to the revelry of
the board, the Skipper, unasked, broke forth with a
smoking song familiar to the tavern-haunters of that
era.

“The cackle of a wild goose, the screech of a
kingfisher in foul weather, hath more music in it,
Dickon Cocklescraft, than this thou call'st singing,”
said Rob. “I would counsel thee stick to thy vocation—thy
vocation, Master Shark, of drinking and
throat-cutting, and leave this gentle craft of music-making
to such as have no heart to admire thy virtues.
Ha, ha!”—he paused a moment to indulge
his laugh. “When a galliard of thy kidney, dashed
with such poisonous juices as went into the milk that
fed thee, hath a conceit to be merry, the fire-crackling

of roof trees and the clashing of steel are the
fittest melody for his mirth. Dickon, try no more
ditties, thou wilt never make a living by the art.”

“By St. James! I have sung at more honourable
feasts than it ever fell to your lot to partake of. Ay,
and lady-songs, too,—and been applauded for my
voice, old goblin of the Bowl! Have I not sung at
the back of Sir Harry Morgan's chair, in the great
hall of the Governor of Chagres, in the Castle St.
Lawrence, when we made feast there after the sack
of the place?”

“Truly,” replied the Cripple; “whilst the hall
streamed with blood, and the dead corpse of the
Governor was flung like rubbish into a corner, to
give more zest to your banquet—and the women—”

“You have a license, Rob of the Trencher,” interrupted
Cocklescraft, “to snarl at those you cannot
excel. So e'en take your own sweep! When you
can better sing a better song, then I will hearken to
thee.”

“On my conscience, can I now, at this very speaking,
Dickon Cocklescraft,” said the Cripple, “a better
song than ever trilled through thy pipes.

he sung, by way of proof of his skill, with a tremulous
cadence and melancholy whine, as he flourished
his pipe in a line with his eyes, and nodded his head
to mark the time.

“The man has gone clean mad,” ejaculated Kate
of Warrington, who had for some time past been

quietly seated on a stool near the fire, and who now
arose and stepped up to the table to satisfy herself
that it was actually the Cripple whose voice had
aroused her. “Thou hadst better be telling thy beads
and repenting of thy sins upon thy shrivelled hams,
than tinkling thy cracked and worn-out voice at midnight,
to be laughed at by guzzling fools—barked at
by sea-dogs! It is time, Robert Swale, thy old bones
were stretched on thy bed.”

“Faith, thou say'st true, Mistress Nightshade,” replied
Rob; “thou speak'st most truly: I am over easy
to be persuaded into unwholesome merriment—it
hath been the sin of my life. So, put me on the floor
—and now my crutches—my sticks, Kate. There—
thy lantern, Kate.”

“Away, lads, to the brigantine,” said Cocklescraft,
rising from his seat. “When you get her at anchor
off the Chapel, come ashore and pipe me up with the
boatswain's whistle. We have some boxes here to
put on board; and then, good fellows, we will make
a flight into the city, and ruffle the sleep of some of
the burghers, by way of a farewell. Rob, I will go
with you to your cabin: I shall catch an hour's sleep
in my cloak.”

“As thou wilt—as thou wilt, Dickon,” returned the
Cripple as he set forth, with a brisk fling, on his journey,
lighted by the lantern of the beldam.

“Leave the lamp burning,” said Cocklescraft to
the last of the crew, as the man was about to follow
his companions who had already left the room; “it
will serve to steer by when the brigantine comes out
of the creek.”

In the next moment the Wizard's Chapel was deserted
by all its late noisy tenants, and the Skipper
was on his way, in the track of the Cripple, towards
the hut.