Part 16 (1/2)
Abraham Dyson was having a new sloop built for trading purposes, and both Jacob and Cuthbert took the keenest interest in the progress of the work. The sloop was to be called the Cherry Blossom when complete, and it was Abraham Dyson's plan that the christening of the vessel by Cherry herself should be the occasion of her formal betrothal to his son.
This ceremony, however, would not take place for some while yet, as at present the little vessel was only in the earlier stages of construction. Neither Jacob nor Cuthbert had heard anything about this secondary plan, but both took the greater interest in the sloop from the fact that she was to be named after Cherry.
Cuthbert visited her daily, and Jacob as often as his duties at his father's warehouse allowed him. On this particular bright February afternoon the pair had been a great part of their time on the river, skimming about in the wherry, and examining every part of the little vessel under the auspices of the master builder. Dusk had fallen upon the river before they landed, and a heavy fog beginning to rise from the water made them glad to leave it behind. They secured the wherry to the landing stage, leaving the oars in her, as they not unfrequently did when returning late, and were pursuing their way up the dark and unsavoury streets, when the sound of a distant tumult smote upon their ears, and they arrested their steps that they might listen the better.
Cuthbert's quick ears were the first to gather any sort of meaning from the discordant shouts and cries which arose.
”They are chasing some wretched fugitive!” he said in a low voice. ”That is the sound of pursuit. Hark! they are coming this way. Who and what are they thus hounding on?”
Nearer and nearer came the surging sound of many voices and the hurried trampling of feet.
”Stop him--catch him--hold him!” shouted a score of hoa.r.s.e voices, rolling along through the fog-laden air long before anything could be seen. ”Stop him, good folks, stop him! stop the runaway priest--stop the treacherous Jesuit! He is an enemy to peace--a stirrer up of sedition and conspiracy! Down with him--to prison with him! it is not fit for such a fellow to live. Down with him--stop him!”
”A priest!” exclaimed Cuthbert between his shut teeth, a sudden gleam corning into his eyes. ”Jacob, heard you that? A priest--a man of G.o.d! one man against a hundred! Canst thou stand by and see such a one hunted to death? that cannot I.”
Jacob cared little for priests--indeed, he had no very good opinion of the race, and none of Cuthbert's traditional reverence; but he had all an Englishman's love of fair play, and hated the cruelty and cowardice of an angry mob as he hated anything mean and vile, and he doubled back his wrist bands and clinched his h.o.r.n.y fists as he answered:
”I am with thee, good Cuthbert. We will stand for the weaker side. Priest or no, he shall not be hounded to death in the streets without one blow struck in his defence. But how to find him in this fog?”
”We need not fight; that were mere madness,” answered Cuthbert in rapid tones. ”Ours is to hurry the fugitive into the wherry, loose from sh.o.r.e, and out into the river; and then they may seek as they will, they can never find us. Mist! hark! the cries come nigher. If the quarry is indeed before them, it must be very nigh. Mark! I hear a gliding footfall beside the wall. Keep close to me; I go to the rescue.”
Cuthbert sprang swiftly through the darkness, and in a moment he felt the gown of a priest in his hand, and heard the sound of the distressed breathing of one hunted well nigh to the verge of exhaustion. As the hunted man felt the clasp upon his robe he uttered a little short, sharp cry, and made as if he would have stopped short; but Cuthbert had him fast by the arm, and hurried him along the narrow alley towards the river, upholding him over the rough ground, and saying in short phrases: ”Fear nothing from us, holy Father; we are friends. We have come to save you. Trust only to us and, believe me, in three more minutes we shall be beyond the reach of these savage pursuers. The river is before us, though we see it not, and our boat awaits us there. Once aboard, they may weary themselves in their vain efforts to catch us; they will never find us in this fog.
”Here is the water side. Have a care how you step--Jacob, hold fast the craft whilst the Father steps in. So. All is well; cast off and I will follow.”
There was the sound of a light spring; the boat gave a slight lurch, and then, gliding off into the mysterious darkness of the great river, was lost to sight of sh.o.r.e in the wreaths of foggy vapour.
”Where is the hound? where is the caitiff miscreant? Has he thrown himself into the river? Drowning is too good for such a dog as he!” shouted angry voices on the river's bank, and through the still air the sound of trampling footsteps could be heard up and down the little wharf which formed the landing stage.
”I hear the sound of oars!” shouted one.
”He has escaped us--curse the cunning of that Papist brood!” yelled another.
”Let us get a boat and follow,” counselled a third; but this was more easily said than done, as there was no other boat tied up at that landing stage, and the fog rendered navigation too difficult and dangerous to be lightly attempted. With sullen growls and many curses the mob seemed to break up and disperse; but the leaders appeared to stand in discussion for some moments after the rest had gone, and several sentences were distinctly heard by those in the boat, who thought it safer to drift with the tide awhile close to the sh.o.r.e than to use their oars and betray their close proximity to their foes.
”We shall know him again; and if he dares to show his face in the city, we will have him at last, even if we have to search for him in Alsatia with a band of soldiers. He has too long escaped the doom he merits, the plotter and schemer, the vile dog of a seminary priest! Once let us get him into our hands and he shall be hanged, drawn, and quartered, like those six of his fellows. No mercy for the Jesuits; it is not fit that such fellows should camber the earth. There will be no peace for this realm till we have destroyed them root and branch.”
The boat had now drifted too far for the conversation to be any longer audible. Jacob gave a long, low whistle, and took to the oars. Cuthbert, who sat beside the priest in the stern, had his hand upon the tiller; and as the fog cloud lifted just a little, so that the darkness about them became hardly more than that of twilight, he looked at the silent, motionless figure beside him, and exclaimed in surprise:
”Father Urban!”
A slight smile hovered for a moment over the wan face of the priest. He lifted his thin hand and said solemnly:
”Peace be with thee, my son.”
Cuthbert bent his head in reverence, and then turned again towards the Father.
”What hast thou done that they should rail at thee thus--thou the friend of the poor, the friend even of the leper? What has come to them that they turn thus against thee? Sure, but a few short weeks ago and thou didst hold back an angry crowd by the glance of thine eye.”
”My son, trust not in the temper of the crowd, in the goodwill of the mult.i.tude. Was it not the same crowd who on the Sabbath shouted, 'Hosanna to the Son of David!' that on the Friday yelled, 'Crucify Him! crucify Him!' Never put faith in man, still less in the mult.i.tude that is ever swayed like a reed, and may be driven like a wave of the sea hither and thither as the wind listeth.