The captain nodded. "Hast explained thyself very well, sir," he replied.

"As for the money, I am already paid, though if there is more to come, the better I shall be pleased. But now that I know your state and condition, and have heard your story, rest a.s.sured that I will do all I can to help you. We touch at Lisbon first. There you can purchase proper clothing for yourself and those who are with you, and there also you can indite a letter to the Alderman, which will go to him by an English ship very speedily. You have told your tale, and I ask to know no more. I would not know any more, i' faith, even if thou wert to press the knowledge on me. Now do not answer me in what I am about to say, which, in brief, is this: We of the riverside have heard talk and rumours. We know very well who hath now and then been a patron of La Motte. It may be that you have come across and offered indignity to the person of whom I speak--I am no fool, Mr. Commendone, and gentlemen of your degree do not generally come aboard a vessel in the tideway at early dawn in company of a mistress of a house with a red door! If what I say is true--and I do not wish you to deny or to affirm upon the same--then you are as well in Cadiz as anywhere else. It is, indeed, a far cry from the Tower of London, and no one will know who you are in Spain."

Instinctively Johnnie held out his hand, and the big seaman clasped it in his brown and tarry fist.

"Yes," he said slowly, in answer, weighing his words as he did so, "doubtless we shall be safe in Spain for a time, until advices can reach us from England with money and reports of what has happened."

"I said so," Captain Clark answered, "and now you see it also. Mark you, any vengeance that might fall upon you could only be secret, because--if it is as I think, and, indeed, well believe--the person who has suffered indignity at your hands could not confess to it, for reason of his state, and where it was he suffered it. In Spain it would be different, but who's to know that you are in Spain--for a long time, at any rate?"

"And by that time," Johnnie replied, "I shall hope to have gone farther afield, and be out of the fire of any one to hurt me. But there is this, captain, which you must consider, sith you have opened your mind to me as I to you. Enquiry will be made; the wharfingers who brought us aboard may be discovered, and will speak. It will be known--at any rate it _may_ be known--that you and your ship were the instruments of our escape. And how will you do then?"

"I like you for saying that," said the captain, "seeing that you are, as it were, in my power. But alarm yourself not at all, Master Commendone."

He rose from the coil of hemp where he had been sitting and spat out into the sea.

"By'r Lady," he cried, "and dost think that an honest British seafaring man fears anything that a rascally, yellow-faced, jelly-gutted lot of Spanish toads, that have fastened them on to our fair England, can do?

Why! as thinking is now, in the City of London, my owner, Master Cressemer, and three or four others with him, could put such pressure upon Whitehall that ne'er a word would be said. It is them that hath the money, and the train bands at their back, that both pay the piper and call the tune in London City."

"I'm glad you take it that way, captain," Commendone said, "but I felt bound in duty to put your risk before you. Yet if it is as you say, and the power of the merchant princes of the City is so great, why do those about the Queen burn and throw in prison so many good men for their religion?"

"Ah, there you have me," said the captain. "Religion is a very different thing--a plague to religion, say I--though I would not say it unless I were walking my own deck and upon the high seas. But, look you, religion is very different. They can burn a man for his religion in England, but if he is in otherwise right, according to the powers that be, they cannot make religion a mere excuse for burning him. Now I myself am a good Catholic mariner"--he put his tongue in his cheek as he spoke--"when I am ash.o.r.e I take very good care--these days--to be regular at Ma.s.s. And this ship hath been baptised by a priest withal!

Make your mind at rest; they cannot touch me in England for taking of you away. There is too much at my back! And they cannot touch me in Spain because no one will know anything about it there. And now 'tis time for dinner. So come you down. There's a piece of pickled beef that hath been in the pot this long time, and good green herbs with it too--the want of which you will feel ere ever you make the Tagus."

It is astonishing--although the observation is trite--how soon people adapt themselves to entirely new conditions of life. The environment of yesterday seems like the experience of another life; that of to-day, though we have but just experienced it, becomes already a thing of use and wont.

It was thus with the fugitives. They were not three days out from London River before they had shaken down into their places and life had become normal to them all.

It was not, of course, without its discomforts. Hull, messing with the bo'son, was very well off and speedily became popular with every one.

The brightness and cheeriness of the fellow's disposition made him hail and happy met with all of them, while his great personal strength and general handiness detracted nothing from his popularity. Madame La Motte, wicked old soldier of fortune as she was, adapted herself to her surroundings with true and cynical French philosophy. She, who was used to live in the greatest personal luxury, put up with the rough fare, the confined quarters, with equanimity, though it was fortunate that their pa.s.sage was smooth, and that all the time the sea was tranquil as a pond. She was accustomed to drink fine French and Italian wines--and to drink a great deal of them. Now she found, perforce, consolation in Captain Clark's puncheons of Antwerp spirit, the white fiery _schiedam_.

She was a drunkard, this engaging lady, and imbibed great quant.i.ties of liquor, much to the satisfaction of the captain, who was paid for it in good coin of the realm.

The woman never became confused or intoxicated by what she drank.

Towards the end of the day she became a little sentimental, and was wont to talk overmuch of her good birth, to expatiate upon the fallen glories of her family. Nevertheless, no single word escaped her which could shock or enlighten the sensitive purity of the young girl who was now in her charge. There must have been some truth in her stories, because Commendone, who was a thoroughly well-bred man, could see that her manners were those of his own cla.s.s. There was certainly a free-and-easiness, a rakish _bonhomie_, and a caustic wit which was no part of the attributes of the great ladies Johnnie had met--always excepting the wit. This side of the old woman came from the depths into which she had descended; but in other essentials she was a lady, and the young man, with his limited experience of life, marvelled at it, and more than once thanked G.o.d that things were no worse.

It was during this strange voyage that he learnt, or began to learn, that great lesson of _tolerance_, which was to serve him so well in his after life. He realised that there was good even in this unclean old procuress; that she had virtues which some decent women he had known had lacked. She tended Elizabeth with a maternal care; the girl clung to her, became fond of her at once, and often said to Johnnie how kind the woman was to her and what an affection she inspired.

Reflecting on these things in the lonely watches of the night, Commendone saw his views of life perceptibly changing and becoming softened. This young man, so carefully trained, so highly educated, so exquisitely refined in thought and behaviour, found himself feeling a real friendship and something akin to tenderness for this kindly, battered jetsam of life.

She spoke frankly to him about her dreadful trade of the past, regarding it philosophically. There was a demand; fortune or fate had put her in the position of supplying that demand. _Il faut vivre_--and there you were! And yet it was a most singular contradiction that this woman, who for so long had exploited and sold womanhood, was now as kind and tender, as scrupulous and loving to Elizabeth Taylor as if the girl was her own daughter.

It was not without great significance, Johnnie remembered, that the soul of the Canaanitish harlot was the first that Christ redeemed.

With Elizabeth--and surely there was never a stranger courting--Johnnie sank at once into the position of her devoted lover. It seemed inevitable. There was no prelude to it; there were no hesitations; it just happened, as if it were a thing pre-ordained.

From the very first the girl accepted him as her natural protector; she looked up to him in all things; he became her present and her horizon.

It was on one lovely night, when the moon was rising, the winds were soft and low, and the stars came out in the dark sky like golden rain, that he first spoke to her of what was to happen.

It was all quite simple, though inexpressibly sweet.

They were alone together in the forward part of the ship, and suddenly he took her slim white hand--like a thing of carved and living ivory--and held it close to his heart.

"My dear," he said, in a voice tremulous with feeling, "my dear Lizzie, you are my love and my lady. When first I saw you outside St. Botolph his Church, so slim and sorrowful in the grey dawning, my heart was pierced with love for you, and during the sad day that came I vowed that I would devote my life to loving you, and that if G.o.d pleased thou shouldst be my little wife. Wilt marry me, darling? nay, thou _must_ marry me, for I need you so sore, to be mine for ever both here in this mortal world and afterwards with G.o.d and His Angels. Tell me, sweetheart, wilt marry me?"

She looked up in his face, and the little hand upon his heart trembled as she did so.

"Why, Johnnie," she answered at length, "why, Johnnie, who could I marry but you?"

He gathered the sweet and fragrant Simplicity to him; he kissed the soft scarlet mouth, his strong arms were a home for her.

"Or ever we get to Seville," he said, "we will be married, sweetheart, and never will we part from that day."

She echoed him. "Never part!" she said. "Oh, Johnnie, my true love; my dear and darling Johnnie!"

At Lisbon, where they lay five days, Madame La Motte and Elizabeth went ash.o.r.e, and purchased suitable clothes and portmanteaux, while Johnnie also fitted himself out afresh. Madame La Motte had brought a very large sum with her in carefully h.o.a.rded gold, while she had also carried away all her jewels, which, in themselves, were worth a small fortune. She placed the whole of her money at Commendone's disposal, and made him take charge of it, with an airy generosity which much touched the young man. He explained to her that in the course of three months or so any money that he needed would reach him from England, and that she would be repaid, but she hardly seemed to hear him and waved such suggestion away. And it is a most curious thing that not till a long time afterward did it ever occur to the young man how and in what way the money he was using had been earned. The realisation of that was to come to him later; the time was not yet.

At Lisbon the pa.s.sengers on board the _St. Iago_ were added to. A small yellow-faced Spaniard of very pleasant manners--Don Pedro Perez by name--bought a pa.s.sage to Cadiz from Captain Clark, and there was another fellow of the lower cla.s.ses, a tall, athletic young man, very much of Johnnie's build, though with a heavy and rather cruel face, who also joined the vessel. This person, who paid the captain a small sum to be carried to the great port, lived with the sailors, and interfered nothing with the life of the others.

Don Perez proved himself an amusing companion and was very courteous to the ladies.

From him Johnnie made many enquiries and learnt a good deal of what he wanted to know. It will be remembered that Commendone's mother was a Spaniard, a girl of the Senebria family of Seville. Johnnie knew little of his relations on his mother's side, but old Sir Henry still kept up some slight intercourse with Don Jose Senebria, the brother of his late wife. Now and again a cask of wine and some pottles of olives arrived at Commendone, and occasionally the knight returned the present, sending out bales of Flemish cloth. It was Johnnie's purpose to immediately proceed from Cadiz to Seville after their arrival at the port. He learnt with satisfaction that Don Jose still inhabited the old family palace by the Giralda, and he felt that he would at least be among friends and sure of a welcome.

While the _St. Iago_ lay at Lisbon, two days before she set sail from there, an English ship arrived, and from that time until she weighed anchor Johnnie and none of his companions went ash.o.r.e. It was extremely unlikely that they would incur any danger, for the _Queen Mary_, which was the name of the ship, must have sailed at very much the same time as they did. It was as well, however, to undergo no unnecessary risks.

On the day before the _St. Iago_ sailed for Cadiz a great Spanish galley came up the Tagus, a long and splendid ship, gliding swiftly up the river with its two banks of oars. It was the first galley Johnnie had ever seen, and he shuddered as he thought of the chained slaves below, who propelled that sort of vessel, which was spoken of in England as a floating h.e.l.l. The galley lay at Lisbon for several hours, and then at evening left the wharf where she had been tied and once more went down the river for the open sea.

Johnnie was on deck as she pa.s.sed, just about sunset, and watched with great interest, for the galley crossed the stern of the _St. Iago_ only fifty yards away from him.

He heard the regular machine-like chunking of the oars; he heard also a sharper, more pistol-like sound, which he knew was none other than the cracking of the overseers' whips, as they flogged the slaves to greater exertions.

He did not see that among a little group of people upon the high castellated p.o.o.p of the galley there was one figure, a tall figure, m.u.f.fled in a cloak, and with a broad-brimmed Spanish hat low upon its face, who started and peered eagerly at him as the ship went by.

Nor did he hear a low chuckle of amus.e.m.e.nt which came from that cloaked figure.

Elizabeth was standing by his side. He turned to her.

"Let us go below," he said; "they will be bringing supper. Sweetheart, I feel sad to think of those wretched men that pull that splendid ship so swiftly through the seas."

CHAPTER IX

"MISERICORDIA ET JUSt.i.tIA"

(_The ironic motto of the Spanish Inquisition_)