Chapter I: The Pilot Who DID Not Return

I WAS born on the 6th day of July in the year of grace 1568, in the parish of Crofton, in the county of Southampton.

My father, Richard Roy, was one of the Queen's pilots, and no man knew the tides, currents, and hidden dangers of the Channel 'twixt Scilly and the Forelands better than he.

Fourteen years before I was born, he being then but twenty-five, my father brought into Southampton the ship that bore the heir to the throne of Spain--the same Philip whom all England abhorred till the time of his death. 'Twas on the occasion when this prince came to wed our Queen Mary. Even then the haughty Spaniard was unpopular, and my father roundly detested the task which had been entrusted to him. Yet, since 'twas his duty, he did it right well, bringing the prince's ship safely into Southampton, despite a thick sea-fog.

At length, wearying of staying in home waters, my father engaged in several ventures on the Spanish Main. Here he met with varying fortunes, having been twice cast ashore on the coast of Yucatan. On the second occasion he formed an acquaintanceship with a Spanish grandee, Don Iago d'Alvarez. Friendship I will not term it, as events proved; yet since necessity knows no law, 'twas in my sire's interest to work with this Spaniard.

Together, with the assistance of the Indians, they found and worked a rich mine in the mountains that, like a backbone, traverse the Spanish colony of Mexico--or New Spain, as they would call it.

With many mules laden with silver the adventurers journeyed towards the coast, and losing heavily both in men, beasts of burden, and precious metal, they succeeded in coming within sight of the shore somewhere in the neighbourhood of the city of Vera Cruz.

That night Don Iago made excuse to go into the city, and in his absence my father learned from one of the Indians that a rupture had occurred 'twixt England and Spain. This might or might not have been true, but the rest of the Indian's tale was of far greater import as far as my sire was concerned. In short, Don Iago had gone to obtain the aid of one, Don José da Silva. My father was to be treacherously slain, and his share of the hard-gotten booty was to be divided 'twixt the two rascally Spaniards.

Black rage entered into my father's heart. Vowing that neither of the villains should set eyes on the treasure, he dismissed the Indians, and having taken possession of the map of the mine, without which it was well-nigh impossible to find the spot again, he drove the baggage mules with their precious burdens over the edge of a deep ravine, through which the Rio del Foy gains the sea. Thus having thwarted his treacherous companion, my sire fled southwards, casting about him to find a means whereby he could leave the inhospitable shore of Mexico.

This he succeeded in doing, and after divers adventures, perils, and hardships, again set foot in his native land in the year 1566.

The same year he married, and settled down once more to his calling as a pilot, though the restless spirit of adventure sorely tempted him again to seek for the vast treasures of the silver mine of San Luis. Yet, held by home ties, he remained at Titchfield Haven, making a modest living by piloting vessels within the limit of a line drawn 'twixt Lepe and Alverstoke Point.

In my younger days I regarded my parent as a giant, though I have since outstripped him in height. He could, I remember, by standing on tiptoe touch the crown of the arch of Crofton Church door with his head, and 'tis seven feet less a bare four inches. Moreover, he was broad in proportion, with massive chest and limbs, and muscles corded like the trunk of an oak. On one occasion I remember seeing some deep, curiously-shaped scars upon his back, whereat he made such ado to conceal them that I forbore to ask him concerning them. That night I asked my mother, but she firmly and gently bade me wait till I was older ere I learnt the cause of those healed wounds.

One night, when I was twelve years of age, it fell, as frequently happens, a flat calm. My father had returned, saying that, as no ship was in sight and none likely to arrive this tide, he would retire to rest.

I well remember that evening. It was hot and oppressive. The sun had sunk behind a high bank of deep copper-coloured clouds, while the lead-tinted sea rolled sullenly without any breeze to cause the commotion. The sea-gulls, with plaintive cries, flew landwards, as if the unnatural calm disturbed them, while away to the south-east I noticed the distant flashes of summer lightning.

It was so hot and uncomfortable that I could not sleep, but lay in my bed listening to the dull roar of the ground-swell upon the sand flats that encumbered the mouth of our haven, for as such we invariably spoke of the entrance to the tidal Titchfield River.

Shortly after midnight--for I remember hearing the great clock of Place House chime the hour of twelve--there came a loud summons at our door, and a voice exclaimed:

"Does Richard Roy, the pilot, dwell here?"

"Ay," assented my father. "What's amiss? Marry! I know most men hereabouts, but I cannot recognise the sound of your voice."

"That can abide, pilot. But the pinnace _Speedie_, of Brixham, would fain enter the haven."

"I'll be with you, gossip; but i' faith you must have caught a favouring breeze, for at sunset there was naught in sight and no wind withal."

A few minutes later my father, having bidden my mother farewell, with the assurance that he would be home ere morning, unbarred the door.

I heard the footsteps of my sire and his companion crunching on the shingle, then the sound of oars being thrown into the boat, and the creaking of the thole-pins as the little craft put off to the pinnace.

Shortly afterwards I must have fallen asleep.

I awoke with a start, to find the red glare of the rising sun shining on my face. The sky was heavy with swiftly-moving masses of ragged clouds, while seawards the white-crested waves were lashing themselves furiously on the flat shore.

It was now low tide. The haven was dry, but no vessel lay on its muddy bed. Looking landwards up the level valley of the Meon River, I could see as far as the towers of Place House and the little hamlet of Titchfield. Lying alongside the quay abreast of my Lord Wriothesley's mansion were two vessels, but since I knew them well by sight, 'twas certain that neither was the Brixham pinnace.

Seaward no ship was to be seen, either at anchor within the shelter of Calshot Castle or under way towards the distant Wight.

The _Speedie_, if such she were, had vanished as mysteriously and as unseen as she had arrived off the haven overnight.

So fierce was the storm that I made much ado to keep the casement from being blown to by the force of the wind, while the loose, dry sand above high-water mark was being blown landwards in great eddying clouds. Ashore the full-leaved trees were bending greatly to the wind, some of them having already been uprooted by the fierce blast; the like I had never before seen.

Going downstairs, I found my mother sitting at the window, pale and weary with watching, for 'twas ever thus whenever my father was at his work in a storm.

"Oh, Ralph, what has befallen your father?" she exclaimed. "He went off to some ship yesternight, and has not returned."

"Naught, I trust," I replied bravely, for I had unbounded confidence in my sire's resolution and seamanship. "Perchance the tide fell overmuch before the _Speedie_ could enter the haven, and he has taken her to Southampton."

"You talk like a full-grown man, Ralph," she exclaimed, comforted, no doubt, by my reply. Then her curiosity got the better of her distress. "How came you to know that the ship was the _Speedie_?" she asked.

"I heard the man call my father soon after midnight."

"Tell me, Ralph," she continued anxiously, "did he talk like--like an Englishman?"

"Ay, though not like the people of these parts. He said he was of Brixham; and where might Brixham be, mother?"

"I thank Heaven he was a Devon man," said my mother, ignoring my question, and then, as if speaking to herself, "Oh, Dick, why did you put off to that ship?"

Slowly the day passed. The gale abated almost as suddenly as it had sprung up, and once more the fishing boats that had lain snugly in the sheltered harbours and creeks of the Isle of Wight began to run for home.

To our anxious inquiries the fishermen could give no news. No strange craft named the _Speedie_ had been met with.

Late that afternoon I trudged into Southampton, but though my father was well known in the port, he had not been seen there, neither had any ship put in that bore the name of the Brixham pinnace.

An anxious night succeeded a trying day, but still no news. Two small traders had been cast ashore, one at Stone Point, the other off Warsash, and in both cases their crews contrived to reach land safely; but neither vessel was the _Speedie_.

The days ran into weeks, till blank despair that had succeeded the period of anxiety gave place to the strange calm of resignation.

At length, at the invitation of some of her relatives, my mother sold up her home and moved into a small house at Portsmouth, having enough to keep us in comparative comfort.

Thus in my fourteenth year I found myself about to be bound 'prentice to learn the art and mystery of a mariner, and it is at this point that my narrative begins.