Chapter II: The Damsel of Lyme

ONE afternoon I was sitting on the beach close to the iron chain that crosses the mouth of the Portsmouth Harbour--the same chain that had been wrought at great expense by the order of King Henry, the father of our gracious sovereign Lady Queen Elizabeth, for the purpose of keeping out hostile ships, though many would have it that 'twould not avail 'gainst a man-of-war standing in with wind and tide.

With me was my boon companion, Jack Staynton, a lad two years my senior, and son of the selfsame Roger Staynton who had been disfranchised under strange circumstances during the late reign.

The elder Staynton was a man of uncommon ideas, who firmly believed in taking stern measures to redress his grievances when milder actions failed.

Nearly thirty years before he was master-gunner of the town of Portsmouth, and received an offer to be made a burgess. But being accused of having unlawfully taken possession of an iron gun belonging, 'tis said, to the town and not to Her Majesty, he took umbrage, and promptly told the Mayor that the burgess-ship was not worth a clout to wipe his dirty shoes, and that he would not accept the so-called honour.

Smarting under the insult, the Mayor "presented" Roger Staynton for not giving up the gun, and the master-gunner was ordered to surrender the piece of ordnance by a certain date. Staynton appealed to Her Majesty in vain. Thereupon, with a score of boon comrades he hauled the cannon to the Mayor's house, and calling his worship forth, had him placed astraddle of the piece, chaining his ankles together so that the unfortunate chief magistrate could not release himself. All that night the Mayor remained in possession of the town's gun, and in a far different manner than he bargained for; but ere morning Roger Staynton was on the high seas, bound for the coast of Flanders, where he served bravely with the Dutch 'gainst their Spanish oppressors.

These doings occurred in the reign of Bloody Mary, but on Her Most Gracious Lady Queen Elizabeth's accession Roger hastened to return home, and was reinstated in his office of master-gunner.

Jack Staynton showed fair promise of inheriting his sire's impetuous bravery and hot-headed disposition. Withal he was good-hearted and of a pleasant manner, save when thwarted in what he considered to be his rights. Though two years older than I, he was full three inches shorter in stature, his body being over broad in proportion to his height.

From his cradle his father had taught him to hate the Spaniards, and that doctrine, being akin to mine own, strengthened our mutual friendship.

"By Kit! yore's a strange rig," exclaimed Jack, pointing to a long, rakish-looking pinnace that was standing in towards the harbour. She was about fifty feet in length, with a deep sheer amidships, her poop being well raised, though not so lofty in proportion to many of the Queen's ships. She had both fore and aft masts, raking well aft. Her mainyard had been lowered, for her crew were shortening sail, but from her foreyard a huge square sail was drawing to the following breeze.

"Ay, 'tis not a craft of these parts," I replied. "Yonder sail was not cut in the ports of Hampshire or Sussex. Mark well the tumble home of her sides, and her long, lean bows. She must be a wholesome vessel for hard weather, and swift withal."

"Well spoken, young master!" exclaimed a fisherman who was standing close by. "'Tis the _Damsel of Lyme_, and hath been arrested by the Vice-Admiral Horsey on a charge of piracy on the high seas."

"Is that so?" asked Jack eagerly. "And what will come o' it?"

"They will take her into the Camber Quay. If so be the charge is proved, 'tis the halter for her crew," replied the man. "Perchance you would like to see the pinnace moored; that being so, I'll put you across in my boat."

We eagerly assented, and accompanying the fisherman along a narrow tongue of shingle that separated the harbour from the vast extent of mud that at high tide served as the Camber, we crossed to the quay.

Here many of the townsfolk had already assembled. There was Master John Highfield, the Mayor, with Master Owen Tottye, who had held the office two years before. They were holding close converse with a short, rotund man whose white hair and grey pointed beard contrasted strangely with his deep red complexion.

"'Tis Sir Henry Radclyffe, the Governor of the town," whispered Jack, as we clambered up the worn stone steps of the quay. "A right worthy gentleman, and a brave soldier. My father has served under him in times past, and has nothing but praise for him."

"Yet he seems to have continual differences with the Mayor," I replied.

"'Tis but natural, when a town has two masters," remarked Jack sagely. "Dost not remember last Monday before Michaelmas, when the same Mayor was elected, how that my father had orders from Sir Henry concerning the discharge of ordnance from the platform for the Mayor's salute, and that this Master Highfield had words with the Governor regarding the number of guns that were to be fired? 'Tis even the same, and perchance 'twill always be."

Jack was right, for at that moment a dispute was in progress as to who should have charge of the prisoners--five evil-looking cut-purses who had been caught in the very act of robbing a Shoreham trader off the Isle of Wight. The Mayor claimed the culprits under the jurisdiction of the town, while Sir Henry Radclyffe insisted that they should be the prisoners of the State.

"Well met, Master Staynton!" exclaimed the Governor, as Jack's father, the master-gunner, came up and saluted his superior. "I would have your advice on this matter."

Thereupon Sir Henry proceeded to give his version of the affair, while the Mayor and his councillors, knowing the master-gunner of old, drew long faces at the obvious decision of the old war-dog.

"Of a truth, Sir Henry, you could not do better than follow the example of your predecessor, the worthy Sir Adrian Poynings," replied the master-gunner. "With him right was might and might was right; so, saving your presence, I will send for the guard."

"Excellent!" exclaimed the Governor. "You hear, Master Mayor? I will have and hold these caitiffs. You can hold the pinnace and dispose of her as you think fit. 'Tis but dividing the spoil."

Under the circumstances the Mayor could but submit. The prisoners were removed to the guardroom, while the Town Clerk and his assistants proceeded to take an inventory of the confiscated pinnace.

No one saying us nay, we mingled with the burgesses and townsfolk who were wandering all over the little craft, inspecting with evident curiosity the vessel that had earned such an infamous notoriety in the Channel.

On board I was surprised at her roomy appearance. Save for the break of the poop, I found she was flush fore and aft, a low bulwark for'ard giving slight protection to a couple of small iron sakers, while on her poop an iron culverin was mounted on a swivel, so as to command a wide range on both sides of the ship.

Abaft the foremast was a large hatchway giving access to the hold, while betwixt the mainmast and the poop a smaller opening led to the main cabin, the space under the poop-deck being entirely open save for a low bulkhead rising to a height barely two feet from the deck.

This, then, was the _Damsel of Lyme_, a vessel that had kept the sea in all weathers for more than two years, during which period it was known that she had taken much booty both from the Spaniards and our own countrymen, disposing of it at a handsome profit in the ports of Brittany.

All at once my attention was directed towards a tall, bearded man clad in a jerkin and trunks of blue serge, while around his neck hung a silver whistle on a chain of the same metal. Round his waist was a broad belt of undressed leather, in which was thrust a short sheath-knife, counterbalanced by a bulky wallet.

His head was closely cropped, revealing a high forehead. His eyebrows, instead of being arched, seemed to form one continuous straight line, while his deep-set eyes had a grave expression. His nose was straight and inclined to broadness. Beyond that the rest of his face was hidden by his reddish-hued beard.

That he was a stranger to the town I had no doubt, for I knew nearly every one by sight. None of the other persons on board spoke to him, though many were the inquisitive glances that were thrown towards the tall seaman--since seaman he must surely be.

Presently he straightened himself--for being 'tween decks he had been unable to stand upright--till his head and shoulders appeared above the coamings of the hatch.

"Sink me," I heard him mutter, "this craft ought to suit me right well." Then, seeing us, he said:

"Tell me, shipmates, is there a decent, well-conducted inn where I may obtain good accommodation?"

"There is the Star hard by the Town House, in the High Street," I replied, flattered to think that the stranger should condescend to address us as shipmates.

"A fig for the Star," he bellowed, heedless or ignorant of the fact that Giles Bickley, the host, was within earshot. "The sack was sour and the mulled ale as flat as a duck pond. I tarried there overnight, and this morning my head was as thick as this carline."

"Then there are the Dragon, the Lyon, the White Hart, and the Rose, all standing close together just off St. Nicholas Street," quoth Jack. "'Twould be hard if a veteran salt like you, good sir, did not find one of these to his liking."

"Cleverly said, my young haul-the-bowline; but, tell me, is the law long-winded in this town? When is the matter concerning the disposal of the _Damsel of the Lyme_ likely to be settled?"

I shook my head. Such things were beyond me.

"'Twould not be amiss to ask my friend's father," I remarked. "Yonder he stands. He is called Roger Staynton, and he is master-gunner of this town."

"What! Do I hear aright? Old Roger Staynton? Grammercy!"

And springing upon the deck without deigning to make use of the ladder, the stranger leapt upon the quay and made his way towards Jack's father.

Curious to know more of this remarkable personage, we followed, and were surprised to see the master-gunner wring the stranger's hand with unwonted vehemence.

"Holá, comrade!" he exclaimed. "Only to think that I should see Hannibal Cleat again! Man, methought you had gone down in the Venture, when I saw her with mine own eyes founder off the Texel."

"'Tis a long story, Roger, and 'twill keep. But----"

"Nay, stand not talking here. Do me the honour of staying at my abode, Captain. What I have is at your service. Jack," he added, "hasten and inform your mother that I am bringing an old friend, Captain Hannibal Cleat (of whom she has ofttimes heard me speak), to see her. Ralph, you can go with him, and await our coming. No doubt the Captain will make you yearn for a life on the salt seas."