Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/558

 548 for fishing, all the people seemed smitten with idleness.

There was something to look at, it is true. Three vessels were moored within the bay,—one a large ship, carrying several guns; the two others appearing not at all formidable: yet several fingers pointed that way, and all eyes were fixed upon the ships. It could not be an invasion, could it? Elizabeth’s lively imagination asked. Arabella answered that the French would have been pursued,—so many English ships of war as were watching the opposite coasts.

When old Lieutenant Phinn, known to everybody in Lyme, came stumping along the Cob with his wooden leg, hot and panting, and scarcely able to hold his glass steady, Arabella ventured to ask him what made the boatmen so idle this morning.

“Yon ships,” said the breathless sailor. “They show no colours.”

“Does that mean that they are French?”

“There’s no saying what it means. That’s the criterion,” observed the old man, who enjoyed using a long word to landsfolk, in exaltation of his profession. “The criterion is this;—why not hang out colours if she is English,—yon twenty-sixer,—or if she is French? Or, for that matter, wherever she comes from? There is some stir aboard of her. Her secret will soon leak out.”

In a few minutes the stir was visible to the naked eye. There were boats about the large ship; and, one after another, they came out from the shadow of her side, full of men, and making for the shore.

“Is it an invasion?” Elizabeth now ventured to ask.

“Are they pirates? O! the poor women and children!” cried Arabella, who had heard of the piracies of half a century before. “See how the women run! Elizabeth, we had better go home.”

Elizabeth was unwilling; and it was agreed on all hands that pirates would not choose broad daylight in summer for a raid, nor a town, nor a range of rocks where, as now, the people were gathering to watch the strangers.

The boys were next seen racing down to the Cob and along it. They reached their sister, breathless, just as the second of seven boats touched the beach. The first comers, armed men, but not apparently either soldiers or sailors, had no need to tell the people to stand back; but they made a show of clearing and guarding a space for the landing of the second detachment.

At the moment of that boat grounding, its company stood up, uncovered, and made way for a personage who stepped lightly from the stern, bowed in return to the offers of assistance on either hand, and without aid sprang upon the shingle. He removed his hat, extended his arms as if embracing the scene, gazed along the whole range of rocks, flung himself on his knees, and kissed the beach, and then prayed aloud.

“What is he saying?” the old Lieutenant asked, with his hand behind his ear.

“What can all this mean?” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Anthony insisted that they must go home instantly; and he promised to bring news speedily. But Arabella was little able to walk. With white lips she whispered to Elizabeth,

“It is the Duke of Monmouth.”

“Is it possible? What makes you think so?”

“I remember him perfectly,—face, figure, and voice. He was here five years ago.”

“Eighty at least of these fellows!” the Lieutenant exclaimed, as the seventh and last boat came into view. “Eighty men, all armed! What the devil can it mean?”

“You must go home,” pleaded Anthony to Arabella, “or father will come for you himself; and I am sure he does not wish ”

Arabella made an effort to walk, and recovered her calmness as she proceeded. When they had fairly begun to mount the cliff-road, they stopped a moment to look below.

“Did you see that?” cried Elizabeth.

“It was the gleam of a sword, surely!”

It was so. The Duke, seeing the cliffs now crested with people, drew and waved his sword, and stepped forward, as if to march to the town. It was a critical moment: but it was not altogether discouraging. A few voices shouted “Monmouth! Monmouth!” More joined in with “A Monmouth and the Protestant religion!” And then there were huzzas, above and below, with cries of “Monmouth, our Protestant King!” Not another moment did the girls now linger. They fled homewards.

Just before they emerged from the town, they met the Mayor on horseback, hurrying down. He cast a keen glance at the young people, checked his horse, inquired where the Squire was, and sent word to him that all good citizens must repair to the Mayor’s offices instantly.

The Battiscombe family were of opinion that no pressure of circumstances could release Christians from the duty of addressing God in punctual prayer. If they had braved threats and defied punishment under the Conventicle Act and the Five Mile Act, when they could do it without involving guests, they were not likely to omit their customary worship this morning, because one who might prove their Deliverer had just landed on their shore. Moreover, their way might not be clear; and the fate of their lives might hang on their decisions of this day. So they prayed; and the petitions for direction in the way they should walk were offered with even passionate earnestness. This duty and solace secured, the father of those excited children was eager to be off. He would not stay for breakfast,—would eat as he went,—but gave his orders first.

If the strangers tarried in the place at all, Elizabeth must return home. That was the matter of first concern: but a trusty servant must explore the road, and see that it was safe.

Elizabeth’s decision of tone astonished her friends, who had never known what it was to grow up an orphan, under artificial guidance or none. She considered this house safer than the road to Dorchester, or Dorchester when she got there; and she was not going to leave her best friends in a critical hour like this. If her brother sent for her, she would consider whether she ought to go. Meantime, not a thought or care,—much less an escort,—must be spent upon her.