The Great Mogul. Tracy Louis
Roe.
At last the missive was addressed and sealed. It was nearly ten o’clock, and London was quieting down for the night, when the two quitted their cabin and walked to the larger saloon where Sir Thomas Roe, with Captain Davis, the commander of the Defiance, was busy with many documents.
They talked there a little while. Suddenly they heard the watch hailed by a boat alongside.
“What ship is that?”
“Who hails?”
“The King’s officer.”
Roe sprang to his feet and rushed out, for the cabin was in the poop, and the door was level with the main deck. The others followed. In the river, separated from the vessel by a few feet of mud, was an eight-oared barge filled with soldiers.
“’Fore God!” he whispered to Mowbray, “they have found your retreat.”
They turned towards the wharf. A company of halberdiers and arquebusiers had surrounded it and already an officer was advancing towards the gangway.
“Bid Sainton offer no resistance,” said Roe, instantly. “At best, you can demand fair hearing, and I will try what a bold front can do. Remember, you are sworn volunteers for my mission to Guiana.”
As well strive to stem the water then rushing up from the Nore towards London Bridge as endeavor to withstand the King’s warrant. The officer was civil, but inflexible. Sorely against the grain, both Mowbray and Sainton were manacled and led ashore.
“Tell me, at least, whither you take them,” demanded Roe. “The King hath been misled in this matter and my friends will seek prompt justice at his Majesty’s hands.”
“My orders are to deliver them to the Tower,” was the reply.
“Were you bidden come straight to this ship?”
There was no answer. The officer signified by a blunt gesture that he obeyed orders, but could give no information.
Surrounded by armed men and torch-bearers the unlucky youths were about to be marched off through the crowd of quay-side loiterers which had gathered owing to the presence of the soldiers – Roe was bidding them be of good cheer and all should yet go well with them – when an unexpected diversion took place.
Standing somewhat aloof from the mob were several men carrying bags and boxes. With them were two closely cloaked females, and this little party, arriving late on the scene, were apparently anxious not to attract attention. But the glare of the flambeaux fell on Roger’s tall form and revealed Mowbray by his side.
“Oh, Ann,” wailed a despairing voice, “they have taken him.”
Walter heard the cry, and so did Roe. They knew who it was that spoke. Roe, with a parting pressure of Mowbray’s shoulder, strode off to comfort his sister, whilst Mowbray himself, though unable to use his hands, hustled a halberdier out of the way and cried: —
“Farewell, Mistress Roe. Though the cordon of King’s men be here, yet have I seen you, and, God willing, I shall not part from you so speedily when next we meet.”
He knew that the girls, greatly daring, had slipped out with the men who carried his goods and those of Sainton. Though his heart beat with apprehension of an ignominious fate, yet it swelled with pride, too, at the thought that Eleanor had come to see him.
The guard, seeming to dread an attempted rescue, gathered nearer to their prisoners. A slight altercation took place between Roe and the officer anent the disposition of the prisoners’ effects. Finally, Sir Thomas had his way, and their goods were handed over to the soldiers to be taken with them.
Then, a sharp command was given, the front rank lowered their halberds, the crowd gave way, and the party marched off towards the Tower.
Roger, by means of his great height, could see clear over the heads of the escort.
“That lass must be mightily smitten with thee, Walter,” he said gruffly. “She would have fallen like a stone had not Mistress Cave caught her in her arms.”
CHAPTER V
“This is the time – heaven’s maiden sentinel
Hath quitted her high watch – the lesser spangles
Are paling one by one.”
To understand aright the mixed feelings of anger and dread which filled the minds of the prisoners as they marched through the narrow streets on their way to the Tower, it is necessary to remember how the gross corruption of the court of the first Stuart had inspired Englishmen with a scandalized disbelief in the wisdom of their sovereign. The Tudors reigned over a people who regarded even their mad temper with a half idolatrous reverence. The great poet of the splendid epoch closed by the reign of Elizabeth fittingly expressed the popular sentiment when he spoke of “the divinity that doth hedge a King.” But James, a slobbering monstrosity, at once shallow and bombastic, claiming by day monarchical privileges of the most despotic nature, and presiding by night over drunken revels of the most outrageous license, had torn beyond repair the imperial mantle with which a chivalrous nation had been proud to clothe its ruler.
In the Puritan north especially was he regarded with fear and loathing. Hence, Mowbray and Sainton, though prepared to face with a jest any odds in defense of their honor or their country, could now only look forward to an ignominious punishment, fraught with disablement if not with death itself, because they had dared to cross the path of one of the King’s favorites. It was a dismal prospect for two high-spirited youths.
“We have brought our eggs to a bad market, I trow,” muttered Sainton, as the gates of the Tower clanged behind them and they halted in front of the guardroom, whilst the leader of their escort was formally handing them over to the captain of the guard.
“I fear me you were ill advised to throw in your lot with mine, Roger,” was all that Walter could find to say.
“Nay, nay, lad, I meant no reproach. Sink or swim, we are tied by the same band. Nevertheless, ’tis a pity I am parted from my staff and you from your sword.”
“Here, they would but speed our end.”
“Like enough, yet some should go with us.”
He looked about him with such an air that the halberdiers nearest to him shrank away. Though fettered, he inspired terror. From a safer distance they surveyed him with the admiration which soldiers know how to yield to a redoubtable adversary.
The troops from Whitehall quickly gave place to a number of warders, and the two were marched off, expecting no other lot for the hour than a cold cell and a plank bed. They saw, to their surprise, that some of the men carried their belongings. This trivial fact argued a certain degree of consideration in their treatment, and their hopes rose high when they were halted a second time near the Water Gate. Soon, the sentinel stationed on the projecting bastion shouted a challenge, the chief warder hurried to his side, and, after some parley, the gate was thrown open to admit the identical boat which they had seen lying alongside the Defiance. Moreover, in the light of the torches carried by those on board, they now perceived that the soldiers and rowers were not King’s men but Spaniards.
The galley was brought close to the flight of steps leading down to the dark water beneath the arch, and the prisoners were bidden go aboard.
Walter hung back. The slight hope which had cheered him was dispelled by the sight of the Spanish uniforms.
“I demand fair trial by men of my own race,” he cried. “Why should we be handed over to our enemies?”
He was vouchsafed no answer. Sullenly, but without delay, the warders hustled him and Roger towards the boat. They could offer no resistance. Their wrists were manacled, and, as a further precaution, a heavy chain bound their arms to their waists. It was more dignified to submit; they and their packages were stowed in the center of the galley; the heavy gates were swung open once more, and the boat shot out into the river. For nearly three hours they were pulled down stream. They could make nothing of the jargon of talk that went on around them. Evidently there was some joke toward anent Roger’s size, and one Spaniard prodded