Mrs.Leigh stopped.The flash was right outside the bar.A ship in distress it could not be.The wind was light and westerly.It was a high spring-tide, as evening floods are always there.What could it be? Another flash, another gun.The noisy folks of Northam were hushed at once, and all hurried into the churchyard which looks down on the broad flats and the river.
There was a gallant ship outside the bar.She was running in, too, with all sails set.A large ship; nearly a thousand tons she might be; but not of English rig.What was the meaning of it? A Spanish cruiser about to make reprisals for Drake's raid along the Cadiz shore! Not that, surely.The Don had no fancy for such unscientific and dare-devil warfare.If he came, he would come with admiral, rear-admiral, and vice-admiral, transports, and avisos, according to the best-approved methods, articles, and science of war.What could she be?
Easily, on the flowing tide and fair western wind, she has slipped up the channel between the two lines of sandhill.She is almost off Appledore now.She is no enemy; and if she be a foreigner, she is a daring one, for she has never veiled her topsails,--and that, all know, every foreign ship must do within sight of an English port, or stand the chance of war; as the Spanish admiral found, who many a year since was sent in time of peace to fetch home from Flanders Anne of Austria, Philip the Second's last wife.
For in his pride he sailed into Plymouth Sound without veiling topsails, or lowering the flag of Spain.Whereon, like lion from his den, out rushed John Hawkins the port admiral, in his famous Jesus of Lubec (afterwards lost in the San Juan d'Ulloa fight), and without argument or parley, sent a shot between the admiral's masts; which not producing the desired effect, alongside ran bold Captain John, and with his next shot, so says his son, an eye-witness, "lackt the admiral through and through;" whereon down came the offending flag; and due apologies were made, but not accepted for a long time by the stout guardian of her majesty's honor.And if John Hawkins did as much for a Spanish fleet in time of peace, there is more than one old sea-dog in Appledore who will do as much for a single ship in time of war, if he can find even an iron pot to burn powder withal.
The strange sail passed out of sight behind the hill of Appledore;and then there rose into the quiet evening air a cheer, as from a hundred throats.Mrs.Leigh stood still, and listened.Another gun thundered among the hills; and then another cheer.
It might have been twenty minutes before the vessel hove in sight again round the dark rocks of the Hubbastone, as she turned up the Bideford river.Mrs.Leigh had stood that whole time perfectly motionless, a pale and scarcely breathing statue, her eyes fixed upon the Viking's rock.
Round the Hubbastone she came at last.There was music on board, drums and fifes, shawms and trumpets, which wakened ringing echoes from every knoll of wood and slab of slate.And as she opened full on Burrough House, another cheer burst from her crew, and rolled up to the hills from off the silver waters far below, full a mile away.
Mrs.Leigh walked quickly toward the house, and called her maid,--"Grace, bring me my hood.Master Amyas is come home!""No, surely? O joyful sound! Praised and blessed be the Lord, then; praised and blessed be the Lord! But, madam, however did you know that?""I heard his voice on the river; but I did not hear Mr.Frank's with him, Grace!""Oh, be sure, madam, where the one is the other is.They'd never part company.Both come home or neither, I'll warrant.Here's your hood, madam."And Mrs.Leigh, with Grace behind her, started with rapid steps towards Bideford.
Was it true? Was it a dream? Had the divine instinct of the mother enabled her to recognize her child's voice among all the rest, and at that enormous distance; or was her brain turning with the long effort of her supernatural calm?
Grace asked herself, in her own way, that same question many a time between Burrough and Bideford.When they arrived on the quay the question answered itself.
As they came down Bridgeland Street (where afterwards the tobacco warehouses for the Virginia trade used to stand, but which then was but a row of rope-walks and sailmakers' shops), they could see the strange ship already at anchor in the river.They had just reached the lower end of the street, when round the corner swept a great mob, sailors, women, 'prentices, hurrahing, questioning, weeping, laughing: Mrs.Leigh stopped; and behold, they stopped also.
"Here she is!" shouted some one; "here's his mother!""His mother? Not their mother!" said Mrs.Leigh to herself, and turned very pale; but that heart was long past breaking.
The next moment the giant head and shoulders of Amyas, far above the crowd, swept round the corner.
"Make a way! Make room for Madam Leigh!"--And Amyas fell on his knees at her feet.
She threw her arms round his neck, and bent her fair head over his, while sailors, 'prentices, and coarse harbor-women were hushed into holy silence, and made a ring round the mother and the son.
Mrs.Leigh asked no question.She saw that Amyas was alone.
At last he whispered, "I would have died to save him, mother, if Icould."
"You need not tell me that, Amyas Leigh, my son."Another silence.
"How did he die?" whispered Mrs.Leigh.
"He is a martyr.He died in the----"
Amyas could say no more.
"The Inquisition?"
"Yes."
A strong shudder passed through Mrs.Leigh's frame, and then she lifted up her head.
"Come home, Amyas.I little expected such an honor--such an honor--ha! ha! and such a fair young martyr, too; a very St.Stephen!
God, have mercy on me; and let me not go mad before these folk, when I ought to be thanking Thee for Thy great mercies! Amyas, who is that?"And she pointed to Ayacanora, who stood close behind Amyas, watching with keen eyes the whole.
