University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Shirley.

Early in the morning after the ball, Willy of the
Flats, who had spent the night amongst the servants
at the Rose Croft, strayed forth from his truckle bed
and betook himself to the margin of St. Inigoe's
creek, where he sat down to look abroad over the
waters at the rising sun, and to profit by the breeze
as it cooled his brow, still aching with the effects of
the late revel. He had not been long in this position
before Wise Watkin, fresh from a truss of hay in
the barn, espied him, and now hastened to take a
seat at his side.

“Well, lad of the clear head and mother wit, what
has brought you to the water side so early?” was
Willy's question, as the obsequious Watkin came into
the presence of his patron.

“As I lay in the barn, Willy,” replied Watkin,
with a world of gravity in his looks; “I heard first

a hem, mark you, and then a cough;—and says I,
that's Willy of the Flats, by the sound of his throat.
And so, I gets up and looks out through the cranny,
and, sure enough, there was you walking, with your
hands in your pockets and your hat set a one side
like a gentleman:—and then, says I, if Willy's stirring
now so early, honest folks ought to be abroad
too. And with that, out I walked, he, he, he!—and
here I am sitting beside you, like another gentleman.”

“Then, Wise Watkin, since we are so sociable,
tell me what you think of our ball last night?”

“Oh, grand!—grand, grand, Master Willy! Oh,
you have tickled Toby in the ribs, Master Willy!—
you have done it, as it was never done before. People
will talk of Willy of the Flats after this. Mistress
Blanche will talk of you,—Master Albert will talk of
you. I shouldn't wonder if his Lordship should send
you a purse of gold. I'm sure it's no more than
folks look to see done.”

“And Mistress Coldcale did not stint to give you
plenty to stay your stomach, Watkin?”

“Plenty, troth, and to spare, Willy! Mistress
Coldcale is a mother of open hands. I could live
under Mistress Coldcale all my born days and never
grudge what I did for her.”

“Mistress Bridget will give us our breakfasts, this
morning,” said the fiddler, patting the simpleton on
the head; “and then, Watkin, we must away. It
will not be well taken if we tarry too long after the
feast.”

“There is more sport on hand to-day, Willy. We

must not go till that be over. There is to be a set-to
at Cornwaleys's Cross to-day.”

“A set-to?”

“I know all about it, Master Willy. I heard them
appoint it.”

“Heard who? What dost thou mean, Wise
Watkin?”

“Listen, Willy;—it was as I shall tell you. When
I carried fodder to the boat last night, as Mistress
Bridget ordered—I call a full trencher of meat fodder,
Master Willy—I comes back by the way of the
stile over the hedge, when what should I see but two
gentlefolks in a discourse, and what should I hear
but `I'll meet you, and you will meet me to-morrow
morning at noon, at Cornwaleys's Cross.' Oh, it is
a made-up business, Willy.”

“Who art thou speaking of, thou slippery-witted
fool?” demanded the fiddler, sharply.

“Nay, if you tax me so keenly, Willy,—I will not
answer. I could have told you what Master Albert
said to me afterwards, when Master Cocklescraft
went over the bank and into his boat—but I will not,
—for thy sharpness.”

“Now, Watkin, wise lad, are you not a fool to
take in dudgeon the freedom of an old friend? Come,
there's a hand—and in token of good will you will
tell me what all this story comes to.”

“As true as I am an honest man, Willy, I heard
it. Master Cocklescraft comes first to the hedge
and Master Verheyden following. Oh ho, says I,
here's a state matter, and so I doused my head under
the hedge. Then Master Cocklescraft says to our

honourable Secretary, you will meet me if you are
a man. And the Secretary says, I am a man of as
good gristle as you, and I will meet you at the Cross
—Cornwaleys's Cross.—When? says Cocklescraft—
at noon to-morrow morning, says the Secretary.
I'll go and get ready, says Cocklescraft;—and with
that, off he marches. There will be a pretty wrestling
match for you, Master Willy! And I should n't
wonder if they should get to a pitch of the bar before
they part: Master Cocklescraft has a great arm for
heaving a bar. You and me, Willy, will be there to
see it. Oh—I made up my mind last night that the
first thing I did this day was to tell you, that you
might see it. I know you love a wrestle, Willy.”

“Truly, this is a matter to be looked to, Watkin,
—I will cast it over in my mind and tell you whether
we shall go to it or not.”

“Well,” continued Watkin, “the Secretary turns
himself about to go to the house, and suddenly, out
of the back of his head, he spies me; and so takes
me to an account to say what I lurked there for.—
Oh, bless you, Willy,—I did n't tell him!—I am no
fool;—if I had let on about the wrestling I should
never have had the luck to get sight of it—these
gentlefolks will not be a country gaze—I know them:
—the Secretary was not going to tickle Toby in my
ribs. All he got out of me was that I had borne a
trencher of fodder to the boatmen—and so he went
his way, and I went mine.”

“Thou art a wise boy, Watkin, and all that I
would have thee do now is keep thy counsel. Say

not a word of this to living man. We will have it
clean to ourselves.”

“My lips shall be as fast as a padlock, Master
Willy. Mortal man shall not screw it out of me.”

The fiddler having extracted from Wise Watkin
the particulars detailed in this dialogue, was shrewd
enough to interpret them according to the real nature
of the incident to which they referred. He knew
that the lad was scrupulous in telling the truth, as
well as he comprehended it, in all matters that came
under his observation, and Willy therefore had no
reserve in the assurance that there was on foot a
quarrel between the Secretary and the Skipper,
which was to be adjusted at Cornwaleys's Cross, on
that day. The nature of the quarrel he could not
conjecture, although he was not ignorant that the
individuals concerned in it, both held a relation to
the maiden of the Rose Croft which might very naturally
breed ill will between them. It was indeed a
part of Willy's vocation to note such matters in the
range of his wanderings,—and he had not been so
idle since the arrival of Cocklescraft in the port, and
especially during the festival of the previous night,
as to shut his eye or ear to the deportment of the
two young men in the presence of the damsel.

Upon revolving over the circumstances of Watkin's
disclosure, and maturely perpending, after his
own manner, the pressure of the case, he came to
the wise conclusion that the best thing he could do
was to communicate the whole story to Blanche and
leave the matter in her hands. Accordingly, as soon

as the maiden had taken her morning repast, he gained
access to her in the little bower of St. Therese,
and there made her a confidential relation of the particulars,
not only as he received them from Wise
Watkin, but with such commentary as occurred to
him to belong to the probable state of the facts.
Blanche received the communication with the deepest
emotion. Whilst the fiddler told his story, her cheek
grew pale—tears started in her eyes, her lip quivered,
her limbs, at last, became rigid, and she fainted
away. Before Willy, however, could quit her side
to call in others to her relief, she revived, and with
a tottering step made her way into the house. A
brief pause enabled her to summon up her strength
and more composedly to address herself to the emergency
in her view. The thought that Albert Verheyden
was placed in circumstances of peril gave
her as much alarm as if instant danger threatened
herself; and now, for the first time in her life, she
became conscious, how deep was the stake she had
in his welfare. Then, too, she felt no other conviction
but that his jeopardy was the direct consequence
of his zeal in her service;—that the Skipper had
brought him into the quarrel on some ground having
relation to her. Cocklescraft, besides, in her estimate
of him, was a reckless and ruthless man, of
fierce passions and violent hand, and she trembled to
think that the gentle Master Albert should be confronted
with such an adversary. “But Master Albert
is brave,” she said, “and will not brook that
rough Skipper's rudeness; he chides his coarse behaviour,—as
well such churl deserves to be chidden.
Albert does not count the hazard of his quarrel, but
leaves that for timid maidens to do. Oh, blessed
virgin Therese!” she exclaimed as she cast her eye
upon the picture of the saint which was suspended
on the wall of her chamber; “take good Master Albert
into thy care, and bear him harmless through
this peril. His quarrel cannot but be just, and the
saints will guard him as they ever guard the right.”

Having come to this conclusion and taken heart at
the thought, she straightway resolved, as every maiden
in similar circumstances would resolve, notwithstanding
the guardianship of the saints which she
had invoked, to fall upon some scheme, if possible, to
prevent the duel. With this view she called sister
Alice into a conference, and their joint conclusion
was to make known the matter to Mr. Warden. But
the Collector had already gone abroad, and time
pressed, leaving but a few hours for action. Their
next resource was father Pierre; and instantly upon
the thought of him, Alice sat down and wrote the
reverend priest a letter, narrating the whole story
and imploring his instant intercession by such offices
as he might believe most effectual to frustrate the
purpose of the belligerents. When the letter was
ready, Willy of the Flats was summoned into the
presence of the ladies, and was strictly charged to
hie him with all haste to father Pierre's dwelling, and
to put the missive into his own hands, as a matter of
the utmost importance requiring his immediate attention.
To this charge was added a dozen alternatives
adapted to every contingency dependant upon father
Pierre's possible absence or inability to act. Thus

commissioned Willy, followed by his shadow, Wise
Watkin, set forth for the town, at a rate which kept
the good-natured attendant in a half trot.

Whilst these things were going on at the Rose
Croft, the Secretary was not idle in his preparation
for the issues of the day. Albert Verheyden was,
as I have already hinted, of an ardent and impulsive
temper, moved by a keen relish for enterprise, and
directed by a lofty tone of honour. His bookish and
half-clerical character, the result of the discipline of
his school and his early destination for the church,
gave him a gentle and almost diffident motion, which
strongly contrasted with the warmth of his feelings,
and the eagerness of his spirit. It was, therefore,
with a positive sense of pleasure, that he had seized
the opportunity to appear as the champion of Blanche
Warden in the first hostile passage which took place
between the Skipper and himself—a pleasure resulting
not less from the alacrity with which he ever
rendered service to the maiden, but also from the
instinct of a romantic nature that delighted in the
thought of matching its manhood with a formidable
adversary. He had never, however, as yet contemplated
the reality of an appeal to arms; and although
in his course of accomplishment, as was the fashion
of that day, after he had renounced his purpose of
serving the church, he had practised the use of his
weapon, and even attained to considerable skill in it,
yet he had not brought himself to look upon it as
other than a light exercise which, like dancing, was
intended to fit him for the graceful service of the
station he was to fill. His ecclesiastical training was

not yet so forgotten as to leave him at perfect ease
with himself in his present straits. It was not, therefore,
with apprehension, so much as with diffidence,
that he found himself now engaged in the appointment
of the duel. He awoke at the dawn of day,
full of the thoughts connected with the affair in
hand; and in casting about for a fit counsellor and
friend in this emergency, he fixed his attention upon
Captain Dauntrees, as a man who would not only do
him a friendly turn, but as one well qualified to advise
him how to comport himself through the ordeal
of the meeting. Having resolved instantly to see
the Captain, he arose, and before the domestics were
stirring about the Proprietary mansion, threw his
cloak over his shoulder, concealing under its folds
his rapier, and betook himself to the Fort. Being
admitted by the sentry, he hastened to the little parlour
of the Captain's quarters, where he arrived
whilst that worthy was still snoring in his bed. The
master of the garrison, however, was soon awakened
from his slumber, by a servant with the announcement
of his visiter, and immediately afterwards
threw open his chamber door, which communicated
with the parlour, and disclosed to the Secretary his
burly figure half attired, whilst he was yet busy in
throwing on his garments.

“Good morrow, Master Verheyden!” he said
with a yawn, scarcely half awake; “I take shame
to myself for a laggard to have so honourable a
guest my teacher of good habits in early rising. But
the Collector's wine was drugged last night, and had
a virtue of sleepiness in it which hath touched me in

the brain pan. It is not more than once in a man's
lifetime, Master Secretary, that so choice a maiden
as our Mistress Blanche comes to so rich an age as
eighteen. You may search the two hemispheres for
another like her, and still make a bootless errand of
it. It was an occasion for a cup, and a most reasonable
excuse for a late nap in the morning.”

“The sun is just peering above the water, Captain,”
replied the Secretary; “and he who sleeps
no later than sunrise, even without the excuse of a
night revel, may scarcely be chid for laziness. I
have broken in thus early upon you, that I might
speak with you on a matter of moment to myself. I
want your counsel and friendship in an affair touching
mine honour, Captain Dauntrees.”

“Ah, is it there the wind sits? Tarry, Master
Verheyden, but a moment, whilst I get my serving
man to truss my points, I shall be with you anon.
An affair of the sword, truly! It is well to be early
in the consideration of such matters. Matchcote,
hark ye! come hither,—quickly,” he shouted from
his door to his valet; “come, gather these points and
set me abroad. There, there,—now leave us, and
busy thyself about breakfast, Matchcote,—we shall
have a relish for the best in the larder. Away, good
fellow!” As soon as the servant, in obedience to
this order, had left the apartment, the Captain inquired—“Who
have we opposed to us, Master Verheyden?
Do we take him with long sword, tuck or
rapier? Where do we meet? But first begin the
story at the beginning.”

“That I propose to do, Captain,” said the Secretary,

smiling. “This Cocklescraft, the master of
the Olive Branch, hath chosen to conceive himself
offended by a rebuke I found it necessary to give him
for some unseasonable importunity of our maiden of
the Rose Croft. It is almost a sennight past, and he
must needs tax me with it, last night and challenge
me to a trial of manhood. His challenge grows
out of some sudden moodiness engendered by somewhat
that vexed him at the dance. Now, though I
hold the Skipper as scarce privileged to exact of me
the redress of his weapon, being of a base condition
so far as he is known in the province—yet, Captain,
I did not choose to be defied by him, and, therefore,
without parley or asking time for deliberation, accepted
his challenge, wherein it was appointed to
hold the meeting this day at noon at Cornwaleys's
Cross. I would entreat your friendship to stand by
me in this appointment; and, as I am all unversed in
the usage of the duel, your better experience may
instruct me.”

“It was well done on your part, Master Albert,—
exceeding well done,” replied the Captain. “I applaud
you for a gentleman of prompt spirit, and careful
consideration of his honour. This same Master
Cocklescraft needs such discipline as you may teach
him. He tosses the feather of his bonnet somewhat
more jauntily over his shoulder, than he has warrant
to do; and he hath a trick of turning the buckle of
his belt behind more frequently than peaceable, well-disposed
persons may choose to bear. I have noted
him with greater strictness than others in the port,
and have, from the first, written him down a dog of

rough breed, notwithstanding his velvet jerkin and
golden tassels. I have seen too many whelps of that
litter, Master Verheyden, not to know them when I
meet them. You did well to receive his challenge,—
although one would hardly have thought you had
learned as much in the seminary at Antwerp. At
noon is it? We have some hours before us, Master
Secretary, and may employ the time in practice for
the encounter. I will give you some cautions that
shall stand you in stead to-day.”