Westward Ho! Or, The Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the County of Devon, in the Reign of Her Most Glorious Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Charles Kingsley
to see what Eustace had taken so much trouble to hide from them, namely, four of Mr. Thomas Leigh’s horses standing at the door, held by his groom, saddles and mail-bags on back, and mounting three of them, Eustace Leigh and two strange gentlemen.
“There’s one lie already this morning,” growled Amyas; “he told us he was going to Northam.”
“And we do not know that he has not been there,” blandly suggested Frank.
“Why, you are as bad a Jesuit as he, to help him out with such a fetch.”
“He may have changed his mind.”
“Bless your pure imagination, my sweet boy,” said Amyas, laying his great hand on Frank’s head, and mimicking his mother’s manner. “I say, dear Frank, let’s step into this shop and buy a penny-worth of whipcord.”
“What do you want with whipcord, man?”
“To spin my top, to be sure.”
“Top? how long hast had a top?”
“I’ll buy one, then, and save my conscience; but the upshot of this sport I must see. Why may not I have an excuse ready made as well as Master Eustace?”
So saying, he pulled Frank into the little shop, unobserved by the party at the inn-door.
“What strange cattle has he been importing now? Look at that three-legged fellow, trying to get aloft on the wrong side. How he claws at his horse’s ribs, like a cat scratching an elder stem!”
The three-legged man was a tall, meek-looking person, who had bedizened himself with gorgeous garments, a great feather, and a sword so long and broad, that it differed little in size from the very thin and stiff shanks between which it wandered uncomfortably.
“Young David in Saul’s weapons,” said Frank. “He had better not go in them, for he certainly has not proved them.”
“Look, if his third leg is not turned into a tail! Why does not some one in charity haul in half-a-yard of his belt for him?”
It was too true; the sword, after being kicked out three or four times from its uncomfortable post between his legs, had returned unconquered; and the hilt getting a little too far back by reason of the too great length of the belt, the weapon took up its post triumphantly behind, standing out point in air, a tail confest, amid the tittering of the ostlers, and the cheers of the sailors.
At last the poor man, by dint of a chair, was mounted safely, while his fellow-stranger, a burly, coarse-looking man, equally gay, and rather more handy, made so fierce a rush at his saddle, that, like “vaulting ambition who o’erleaps his selle,” he “fell on t’other side:” or would have fallen, had he not been brought up short by the shoulders of the ostler at his off-stirrup. In which shock off came hat and feather.
“Pardie, the bulldog-faced one is a fighting man. Dost see, Frank? he has had his head broken.”
“That scar came not, my son, but by a pair of most Catholic and apostolic scissors. My gentle buzzard, that is a priest’s tonsure.”
“Hang the dog! O, that the sailors may but see it, and put him over the quay head. I’ve a half mind to go and do it myself.”
“My dear Amyas,” said Frank, laying two fingers on his arm, “these men, whosoever they are, are the guests of our uncle, and therefore the guests of our family. Ham gained little by publishing Noah’s shame; neither shall we, by publishing our uncle’s.”
“Murrain on you, old Franky, you never let a man speak his mind, and shame the devil.”
“I have lived long enough in courts, old Amyas, without a murrain on you, to have found out, first, that it is not so easy to shame the devil; and secondly, that it is better to outwit him; and the only way to do that, sweet chuck, is very often not to speak your mind at all. We will go down and visit them at Chapel in a day or two, and see if we cannot serve these reynards as the badger did the fox, when he found him in his hole, and could not get him out by evil savors.”
“How then?”
“Stuck a sweet nosegay in the door, which turned reynard’s stomach at once; and so overcame evil with good.”
“Well, thou art too good for this world, that’s certain; so we will go home to breakfast. Those rogues are out of sight by now.”
Nevertheless, Amyas was not proof against the temptation of going over to the inn-door, and asking who were the gentlemen who went with Mr. Leigh.
“Gentlemen of Wales,” said the ostler, “who came last night in a pinnace from Milford-haven, and their names, Mr. Morgan Evans and Mr. Evan Morgans.”
“Mr. Judas Iscariot and Mr. Iscariot Judas,” said Amyas between his teeth, and then observed aloud, that the Welsh gentlemen seemed rather poor horsemen.
“So I said to Mr. Leigh’s groom, your worship. But he says that those parts be so uncommon rough and mountainous, that the poor gentlemen, you see, being enforced to hunt on foot, have no such opportunities as young gentlemen hereabout, like your worship; whom God preserve, and send a virtuous lady, and one worthy of you.”
“Thou hast a villainously glib tongue, fellow!” said Amyas, who was thoroughly out of humor; “and a sneaking down visage too, when I come to look at you. I doubt but you are a Papist too, I do!”
“Well, sir! and what if I am! I trust I don’t break the queen’s laws by that. If I don’t attend Northam church, I pay my month’s shilling for the use of the poor, as the act directs; and beyond that, neither you nor any man dare demand of me.”
“Dare! act directs! You rascally lawyer, you! and whence does an ostler like you get your shilling to pay withal? Answer me.” The examinate found it so difficult to answer the question, that he suddenly became afflicted with deafness.
“Do you hear?” roared Amyas, catching at him with his lion’s paw.
“Yes, missus; anon, anon, missus!” quoth he to an imaginary landlady inside, and twisting under Amyas’s hand like an eel, vanished into the house, while Frank got the hot-headed youth away.
“What a plague is one to do, then? That fellow was a Papist spy!”
“Of course he was!” said Frank.
“Then, what is one to do, if the whole country is full of them?”
“Not to make fools of ourselves about them, and so leave them to make fools of themselves.”
“That’s all very fine: but—well, I shall remember the villain’s face if I see him again.”
“There is no harm in that,” said Frank.
“Glad you think so.”
“Don’t quarrel with me, Amyas, the first day.”
“Quarrel with thee, my darling old fellow! I had sooner kiss the dust off thy feet, if I were worthy of it. So now away home; my inside cries cupboard.”
In the meanwhile Messrs. Evans and Morgans were riding away, as fast as the rough by-lanes would let them, along the fresh coast of the bay, steering carefully clear of Northam town on the one hand, and on the other, of Portledge, where dwelt that most Protestant justice of the peace, Mr. Coffin. And it was well for them that neither Amyas Leigh, nor indeed any other loyal Englishman, was by when they entered, as they shortly did, the lonely woods which stretch along the southern wall of the bay. For there Eustace Leigh pulled up short; and both he and his groom, leaping from their horses, knelt down humbly in the wet grass, and implored the blessing of the two valiant gentlemen of Wales, who, having graciously bestowed it with three fingers apiece, became thenceforth no longer Morgan Evans and Evan Morgans, Welshmen and gentlemen; but Father Parsons and Father Gampian, Jesuits, and gentlemen in no sense in which that word is applied in this book.
After a few minutes, the party were again in motion, ambling steadily and cautiously along the high table-land, towards Moorwinstow in the west; while beneath them on the right, at the mouth of rich-wooded glens, opened vistas of the bright blue bay, and beyond it the sandhills of Braunton, and the