Meantime slowly and sadly the maiden of high degree turned her horse's head from the scenes of her childhood. She felt desolate amidst her plenteous fields and domains, whilst the humble friend of her childhood, the village companion, the poor cottager, seamed happy in all the world could bestow worth coveting; and as Clara turned from the cottage, the handsome Anne, unconscious of her near proximity, was intently perusing some verses which Shakespeare had thrown in at her window as he departed,--verses addressed to herself.

I.

"Would ye be taught, ye feather'd throng, With love's sweet notes to grace your song, To pierce the heart with thrilling lay, Listen to mine, Anne Hathaway.

She hath a way to sing so clear, Phoebus might, wondering, stop to hear; To melt the sad, make blithe the gay, And nature charm, Anne hath a way.

She hath a way, Anne Hathaway, To breathe delight, Anne Hathaway.

II.

"When Envy's breath and ranc'rous tooth Do soil and bite fair worth and truth, And merit to distress betray, To soothe the heart, Anne hath a way; She hath a way to chase despair, To heal all grief, to cure all care, Turn foulest night to fairest day, Thou know'st, fond heart, Anne hath a way.

She hath a way, Anne Hathaway, To make grief bliss, Anne hath a way."

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE ADVENTURERS.

About three weeks after the departure of Clara de Mowbray, a stout-timbered vessel, built after the peculiar fashion of the time, and yet in something improved in its construction from the unwieldy craft in general use, might have been observed beating up against wind and tide on the Kentish coast. The weather, for the time of the year, was unusually rough, and to a heavy rolling sea was added a driving rain, and a roaring gale of wind. There is considerable danger, too, as the mariner well knows, around him on this part of the coast. His craft has been driven out of its course, and the fearful Goodwins are close at hand; still labours on, however, that gallant barque, manned by stout English adventurers. She is trying, amidst the driving rain and furious winds, to make out the mouth of the Sandwich haven; and, whilst her timbers creak, and the blast whistles amongst her rigging, a delicious strain of melody seems to float around her. The notes of a lute are heard by the sailors accompanied by a voice of ravishing sweetness; and, as it issues from the cabin of the vessel, it sounds as if some angel is trying to soothe the fury of the winds and waves.

Dangerous as is this part of the coast, even in the present time, when its perils are so well marked out to the navigator, at the period of our story, it was, by comparison, almost an unknown sea. No secure harbour was then constructed close opposite the Goodwins. No buoys and revolving lights pointed out the dangerous proximity of rocks and shoals; those dread quicksands, whose depths retain the wrecked treasures of successive ages; sands which

"Will not bear our enemy's boats, But suck them up to the top-mast."

Bravely, however, keeps on that labouring barque. One moment she seems engulphed in the boiling waters, and the mist rolls over the spot where her hull was last tossing. The next she is trembling upon the crested wave, and again about to be hurled from its summit into the waters beneath.

One eye there is, on board, which seems especially to watch over her,--an eye which calmly scans every part around, watches every cord of her rigging, and rectifies every mishap consequent upon the violence of the gale.

Meanwhile, on the waist, the deck, the p.o.o.p, are to be seen, besides the sailors who work the vessel, lying, sitting, and holding on by the ropes, the forms of fierce and bearded men, clad in the buff leathern dress which formed the usual costume of warriors of the period, their half-armour being doffed during their voyage along the coast.

Suddenly the eye of the chief, as the driving rain for the moment seems to subside, catches sight of a range of white foam. Another and another follow after, till they seem to overtake each other, and mingle in a perfect cauldron of boiling sea.

Then his voice sounds amidst the roar of winds and waters--the sails flap--the cordage strains--and every eye looks anxious, and every heart beats quicker; for that moment is to decide whether the living, and warlike freightage, are to ride safely past the gulf, or to be sucked down amidst the depths of the awful Goodwins.

As the chief mariner leaps upon the bulwark of the vessel, and, grasping the rigging, looks out upon the boiling sea, a slight and graceful youth has emerged from the cabin, and placed himself beside him.

"We are in peril," said he, in a low voice; "these are the fatal sands you thought you had safely pa.s.sed an hour ago."

But the mariner for the moment heeds not the question of his superior.

His whole attention is given to his craft, and the horrible depths she is every minute apparently about to be engulphed in.

It was an awful moment for one so young and delicate-looking as that boy. Yet his cheek blanches not at the prospect of a death so fearful.

He clings to the slippery ropes, and awaits the event with a courage worthy of one of firmer frame and maturer years; whilst the vessel, dashing amidst the waves, still holds stoutly on.

As she did so the mariner leapt down, and, as his feet again touched the deck of his craft, he drew a long breath.

"'Twas a fearful moment," he said, "I ne'er before looked down whilst so close upon the eternal bed of many a tall and stately vessel. 'Twas a moment that told of life or death."

"'Tis pa.s.sed, then," said the youth; "see, we are driving away from yonder white gallopers, who seem to course each other in an endless chase."

"'Tis pa.s.sed, _for this time_," said the mariner; "but we are on a fearful coast on such an evening as this. Methought I know each foot of these waters; but in such a driving gale 'tis scarce possible to know our course."

"And what then will you do?" inquired the youth.

"Still make for the mouth of the haven I told you of," said the captain; "and which leads us to safety, if we can hit it."

"No easy matter, methinks," said the youth, "in such a gale, eh?"

"Nevertheless, I do not despair," returned the mariner. "My youth has been pa.s.sed upon these very seas. But this is no weather for your Excellency," he continued respectfully, taking the youth's hand, and leading him towards the cabin of the half-decked vessel.

"You forget I am the commander in this expedition," said the youth, smiling.

"Only of the land-forces," said the mariner, returning the smile; "the vessel, by our compact, I am to be captain of."

Half-an-hour after this conversation and the gallant barque was quietly and slowly winding its course along the muddy stream which flows up to the Dutch-built Cinque Port situated at this part of the coast.

The Cinque Ports in Elizabeth's day, albeit their grandeur had in a great measure departed from them, were still of great importance to the nation. There was a pride and pomposity of manner still to be found amongst the barons, and burgesses, and townsfolk, which had descended to them from, their warlike ancestry, during the days when kings honoured them with their especial favour, and granted them privileges and immunities unknown to other towns. With all the pride of their mail-clad ancestry, therefore, and whose constant sufferance had been sack and siege, fire and slaughter, the more peaceful Cinque Porter of Elizabeth's day considered himself still a sort of a _magnifico_. 'Tis true that in place of the chain-mail and two-handed weapons of the iron-men of the Norman period, whose only trade was war, the present race were clad in the high-crown hat, the short cloak, and the full trunks of the well-dealing merchant. Yet still, albeit the portly, lank-haired, Flemish-looking burgher stood upon his gentility as he walked the key of this muddy haven, yet still, we say, steel corslet and military pride was not altogether laid aside, and the _trade of merchandize_ had not entirely superseded efficiency in the _trade of war_.

On the morning following the night on which the strange barque entered the haven of Sandwich, two portly townsmen greeted each other in the Fish Market.

"What vessel was that same which crept up last night and lies moored before the Fisher's Gate?" inquired neighbour De Bock of Master Cramp.

"I can't observe," said Cramp. "She looks queer, methinks. There's an armed sentinel upon her deck, to keep any one from leaving her without license, and another man-at-arms upon the sh.o.r.e with loaded caliver, who walks up and down forsooth, as who should say, keep off Sir Curious, and pry not too closely into our affairs."

"Is she from Holland, think ye?" inquired De Bock.

"I should say nay to that," said Cramp.

"Is she from London, laden with serge, baize, and flannel, think ye?"

"I rather opine not."

"What is her rig, neighbour?"

"Nondescript, I think."

"What is her build?"

"Indescribable, I should say."

"Hath she any freight at all on board?"

"As far as I can judge, she hath a freight."

"And what is it?"