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<h2> CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE YELLOW COG CROSSED THE BAR OF GIRONDE. </h2>
<p>For two days the yellow cog ran swiftly before a northeasterly wind, and
on the dawn of the third the high land of Ushant lay like a mist upon the
shimmering sky-line. There came a plump of rain towards mid-day and the
breeze died down, but it freshened again before nightfall, and Goodwin
Hawtayne veered his sheet and held head for the south. Next morning they
had passed Belle Isle, and ran through the midst of a fleet of transports
returning from Guienne. Sir Nigel Loring and Sir Oliver Buttesthorn at
once hung their shields over the side, and displayed their pennons as was
the custom, noting with the keenest interest the answering symbols which
told the names of the cavaliers who had been constrained by ill health or
wounds to leave the prince at so critical a time.</p>
<p>That evening a great dun-colored cloud banked up in the west, and an
anxious man was Goodwin Hawtayne, for a third part of his crew had been
slain, and half the remainder were aboard the galleys, so that, with an
injured ship, he was little fit to meet such a storm as sweeps over those
waters. All night it blew in short fitful puffs, heeling the great cog
over until the water curled over her lee bulwarks. As the wind still
freshened the yard was lowered half way down the mast in the morning.
Alleyne, wretchedly ill and weak, with his head still ringing from the
blow which he had received, crawled up upon deck. Water-swept and aslant,
it was preferable to the noisome, rat-haunted dungeons which served as
cabins. There, clinging to the stout halliards of the sheet, he gazed with
amazement at the long lines of black waves, each with its curling ridge of
foam, racing in endless succession from out the inexhaustible west. A huge
sombre cloud, flecked with livid blotches, stretched over the whole
seaward sky-line, with long ragged streamers whirled out in front of it.
Far behind them the two galleys labored heavily, now sinking between the
rollers until their yards were level with the waves, and again shooting up
with a reeling, scooping motion until every spar and rope stood out hard
against the sky. On the left the low-lying land stretched in a dim haze,
rising here and there into a darker blur which marked the higher capes and
headlands. The land of France! Alleyne's eyes shone as he gazed upon it.
The land of France!—the very words sounded as the call of a bugle in
the ears of the youth of England. The land where their fathers had bled,
the home of chivalry and of knightly deeds, the country of gallant men, of
courtly women, of princely buildings, of the wise, the polished and the
sainted. There it lay, so still and gray beneath the drifting wrack—the
home of things noble and of things shameful—the theatre where a new
name might be made or an old one marred. From his bosom to his lips came
the crumpled veil, and he breathed a vow that if valor and goodwill could
raise him to his lady's side, then death alone should hold him back from
her. His thoughts were still in the woods of Minstead and the old armory
of Twynham Castle, when the hoarse voice of the master-shipman brought
them back once more to the Bay of Biscay.</p>
<p>"By my troth, young sir," he said, "you are as long in the face as the
devil at a christening, and I cannot marvel at it, for I have sailed these
waters since I was as high as this whinyard, and yet I never saw more sure
promise of an evil night."</p>
<p>"Nay, I had other things upon my mind," the squire answered.</p>
<p>"And so has every man," cried Hawtayne in an injured voice. "Let the
shipman see to it. It is the master-shipman's affair. Put it all upon good
Master Hawtayne! Never had I so much care since first I blew trumpet and
showed cartel at the west gate of Southampton."</p>
<p>"What is amiss then?" asked Alleyne, for the man's words were as gusty as
the weather.</p>
<p>"Amiss, quotha? Here am I with but half my mariners, and a hole in the
ship where that twenty-devil stone struck us big enough to fit the fat
widow of Northam through. It is well enough on this tack, but I would have
you tell me what I am to do on the other. We are like to have salt water
upon us until we be found pickled like the herrings in an Easterling's
barrels."</p>
<p>"What says Sir Nigel to it?"</p>
<p>"He is below pricking out the coat-armor of his mother's uncle. 'Pester me
not with such small matters!' was all that I could get from him. Then
there is Sir Oliver. 'Fry them in oil with a dressing of Gascony,' quoth
he, and then swore at me because I had not been the cook. 'Walawa,'
thought I, 'mad master, sober man'—so away forward to the archers.
Harrow and alas! but they were worse than the others."</p>
<p>"Would they not help you then?"</p>
<p>"Nay, they sat tway and tway at a board, him that they call Aylward and
the great red-headed man who snapped the Norman's arm-bone, and the black
man from Norwich, and a score of others, rattling their dice in an
archer's gauntlet for want of a box. 'The ship can scarce last much
longer, my masters,' quoth I. 'That is your business, old swine's-head,'
cried the black galliard. 'Le diable t'emporte,' says Aylward. 'A five, a
four and the main,' shouted the big man, with a voice like the flap of a
sail. Hark to them now, young sir, and say if I speak not sooth."</p>
<p>As he spoke, there sounded high above the shriek of the gale and the
straining of the timbers a gust of oaths with a roar of deep-chested mirth
from the gamblers in the forecastle.</p>
<p>"Can I be of avail?" asked Alleyne. "Say the word and the thing is done,
if two hands may do it."</p>
<p>"Nay, nay, your head I can see is still totty, and i' faith little head
would you have, had your bassinet not stood your friend. All that may be
done is already carried out, for we have stuffed the gape with sails and
corded it without and within. Yet when we bale our bowline and veer the
sheet our lives will hang upon the breach remaining blocked. See how
yonder headland looms upon us through the mist! We must tack within three
arrow flights, or we may find a rock through our timbers. Now, St.
Christopher be praised! here is Sir Nigel, with whom I may confer."</p>
<p>"I prythee that you will pardon me," said the knight, clutching his way
along the bulwark. "I would not show lack of courtesy toward a worthy man,
but I was deep in a matter of some weight, concerning which, Alleyne, I
should be glad of your rede. It touches the question of dimidiation or
impalement in the coat of mine uncle, Sir John Leighton of Shropshire, who
took unto wife the widow of Sir Henry Oglander of Nunwell. The case has
been much debated by pursuivants and kings-of-arms. But how is it with
you, master shipman?"</p>
<p>"Ill enough, my fair lord. The cog must go about anon, and I know not how
we may keep the water out of her."</p>
<p>"Go call Sir Oliver!" said Sir Nigel, and presently the portly knight made
his way all astraddle down the slippery deck.</p>
<p>"By my soul, master-shipman, this passes all patience!" he cried
wrathfully. "If this ship of yours must needs dance and skip like a clown
at a kermesse, then I pray you that you will put me into one of these
galeasses. I had but sat down to a flask of malvoisie and a mortress of
brawn, as is my use about this hour, when there comes a cherking, and I
find my wine over my legs and the flask in my lap, and then as I stoop to
clip it there comes another cursed cherk, and there is a mortress of brawn
stuck fast to the nape of my neck. At this moment I have two pages
coursing after it from side to side, like hounds behind a leveret. Never
did living pig gambol more lightly. But you have sent for me, Sir Nigel?"</p>
<p>"I would fain have your rede, Sir Oliver, for Master Hawtayne hath fears
that when we veer there may come danger from the hole in our side."</p>
<p>"Then do not veer," quoth Sir Oliver hastily. "And now, fair sir, I must
hasten back to see how my rogues have fared with the brawn."</p>
<p>"Nay, but this will scarce suffice," cried the shipman. "If we do not veer
we will be upon the rocks within the hour."</p>
<p>"Then veer," said Sir Oliver. "There is my rede; and now, Sir Nigel, I
must crave——"</p>
<p>At this instant, however, a startled shout rang out from two seamen upon
the forecastle. "Rocks!" they yelled, stabbing into the air with their
forefingers. "Rocks beneath our very bows!" Through the belly of a great
black wave, not one hundred paces to the front of them, there thrust forth
a huge jagged mass of brown stone, which spouted spray as though it were
some crouching monster, while a dull menacing boom and roar filled the
air.</p>
<p>"Yare! yare!" screamed Goodwin Hawtayne, flinging himself upon the long
pole which served as a tiller. "Cut the halliard! Haul her over! Lay her
two courses to the wind!"</p>
<p>Over swung the great boom, and the cog trembled and quivered within five
spear-lengths of the breakers.</p>
<p>"She can scarce draw clear," cried Hawtayne, with his eyes from the sail
to the seething line of foam. "May the holy Julian stand by us and the
thrice-sainted Christopher!"</p>
<p>"If there be such peril, Sir Oliver," quoth Sir Nigel, "it would be very
knightly and fitting that we should show our pennons. I pray you.
Edricson, that you will command my guidon-bearer to put forward my
banner."</p>
<p>"And sound the trumpets!" cried Sir Oliver. "In manus tuas, Domine! I am
in the keeping of James of Compostella, to whose shrine I shall make
pilgrimage, and in whose honor I vow that I will eat a carp each year upon
his feast-day. Mon Dieu, but the waves roar! How is it with us now,
master-shipman?"</p>
<p>"We draw! We draw!" cried Hawtayne, with his eyes still fixed upon the
foam which hissed under the very bulge of the side. "Ah, Holy Mother, be
with us now!"</p>
<p>As he spoke the cog rasped along the edge of the reef, and a long white
curling sheet of wood was planed off from her side from waist to poop by a
jutting horn of the rock. At the same instant she lay suddenly over, the
sail drew full, and she plunged seawards amid the shoutings of the seamen
and the archers.</p>
<p>"The Virgin be praised!" cried the shipman, wiping his brow. "For this
shall bell swing and candle burn when I see Southampton Water once more.
Cheerily, my hearts! Pull yarely on the bowline!"</p>
<p>"By my soul! I would rather have a dry death," quoth Sir Oliver. "Though,
Mort Dieu! I have eaten so many fish that it were but justice that the
fish should eat me. Now I must back to the cabin, for I have matters there
which crave my attention."</p>
<p>"Nay, Sir Oliver, you had best bide with us, and still show your ensign,"
Sir Nigel answered; "for, if I understand the matter aright, we have but
turned from one danger to the other."</p>
<p>"Good Master Hawtayne," cried the boatswain, rushing aft, "the water comes
in upon us apace. The waves have driven in the sail wherewith we strove to
stop the hole." As he spoke the seamen came swarming on to the poop and
the forecastle to avoid the torrent which poured through the huge leak
into the waist. High above the roar of the wind and the clash of the sea
rose the shrill half-human cries of the horses, as they found the water
rising rapidly around them.</p>
<p>"Stop it from without!" cried Hawtayne, seizing the end of the wet sail
with which the gap had been plugged. "Speedily, my hearts, or we are
gone!" Swiftly they rove ropes to the corners, and then, rushing forward
to the bows, they lowered them under the keel, and drew them tight in such
a way that the sail should cover the outer face of the gap. The force of
the rush of water was checked by this obstacle, but it still squirted
plentifully from every side of it. At the sides the horses were above the
belly, and in the centre a man from the poop could scarce touch the deck
with a seven-foot spear. The cog lay lower in the water and the waves
splashed freely over the weather bulwark.</p>
<p>"I fear that we can scarce bide upon this tack," cried Hawtayne; "and yet
the other will drive us on the rocks."</p>
<p>"Might we not haul down sail and wait for better times?" suggested Sir
Nigel.</p>
<p>"Nay, we should drift upon the rocks. Thirty years have I been on the sea,
and never yet in greater straits. Yet we are in the hands of the Saints."</p>
<p>"Of whom," cried Sir Oliver, "I look more particularly to St. James of
Compostella, who hath already befriended us this day, and on whose feast I
hereby vow that I shall eat a second carp, if he will but interpose a
second time."</p>
<p>The wrack had thickened to seaward, and the coast was but a blurred line.
Two vague shadows in the offing showed where the galeasses rolled and
tossed upon the great Atlantic rollers, Hawtayne looked wistfully in their
direction.</p>
<p>"If they would but lie closer we might find safety, even should the cog
founder. You will bear me out with good Master Witherton of Southampton
that I have done all that a shipman might. It would be well that you
should doff camail and greaves, Sir Nigel, for, by the black rood! it is
like enough that we shall have to swim for it."</p>
<p>"Nay," said the little knight, "it would be scarce fitting that a cavalier
should throw off his harness for the fear of every puff of wind and puddle
of water. I would rather that my Company should gather round me here on
the poop, where we might abide together whatever God may be pleased to
send. But, certes, Master Hawtayne, for all that my sight is none of the
best, it is not the first time that I have seen that headland upon the
left."</p>
<p>The seaman shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazed earnestly through the
haze and spray. Suddenly he threw up his arms and shouted aloud in his
joy.</p>
<p>"'Tis the point of La Tremblade!" he cried. "I had not thought that we
were as far as Oleron. The Gironde lies before us, and once over the bar,
and under shelter of the Tour de Cordouan, all will be well with us. Veer
again, my hearts, and bring her to try with the main course!"</p>
<p>The sail swung round once more, and the cog, battered and torn and
well-nigh water-logged, staggered in for this haven of refuge. A bluff
cape to the north and a long spit to the south marked the mouth of the
noble river, with a low-lying island of silted sand in the centre, all
shrouded and curtained by the spume of the breakers. A line of broken
water traced the dangerous bar, which in clear day and balmy weather has
cracked the back of many a tall ship.</p>
<p>"There is a channel," said Hawtayne, "which was shown to me by the
Prince's own pilot. Mark yonder tree upon the bank, and see the tower
which rises behind it. If these two be held in a line, even as we hold
them now, it may be done, though our ship draws two good ells more than
when she put forth."</p>
<p>"God speed you, Master Hawtayne!" cried Sir Oliver. "Twice have we come
scathless out of peril, and now for the third time I commend me to the
blessed James of Compostella, to whom I vow——"</p>
<p>"Nay, nay, old friend," whispered Sir Nigel. "You are like to bring a
judgment upon us with these vows, which no living man could accomplish.
Have I not already heard you vow to eat two carp in one day, and now you
would venture upon a third?"</p>
<p>"I pray you that you will order the Company to lie down," cried Hawtayne,
who had taken the tiller and was gazing ahead with a fixed eye. "In three
minutes we shall either be lost or in safety."</p>
<p>Archers and seamen lay flat upon the deck, waiting in stolid silence for
whatever fate might come. Hawtayne bent his weight upon the tiller, and
crouched to see under the bellying sail. Sir Oliver and Sir Nigel stood
erect with hands crossed in front of the poop. Down swooped the great cog
into the narrow channel which was the portal to safety. On either bow
roared the shallow bar. Right ahead one small lane of black swirling water
marked the pilot's course. But true was the eye and firm the hand which
guided. A dull scraping came from beneath, the vessel quivered and shook,
at the waist, at the quarter, and behind sounded that grim roaring of the
waters, and with a plunge the yellow cog was over the bar and speeding
swiftly up the broad and tranquil estuary of the Gironde.</p>
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