William Farquhar Payson

“ But Marlowe, raising to the level of his shoulder a large stone, not unlike a cannon-ball in shape and size, flung it against the oaken barrier. It crashed through a decayed board and fell inside, first with a dull thud, and then, as it rolled, a crackling sound like the snapping of dry twigs. Vytal looked through the aperture, but could distinguish nothing for the gloom, and Marlowe peered in with no better success. “It holds all the shadows of the forest in its heart,” he said, thrusting a hand through the hole. “There is a bar of iron across the doorway.” ”

“ Eleanor drew back, with a tremor of repulsion.
“Oh, you recoil,” said Gyll, laughing, with a somewhat hollow mirth; then, mockingly: “And why should you hold aloof? ’Tis better to be a woman than a statue—and not so wonderful a statue, after all. Believe me, ’tis the mere poetry of the thing entrances addle-pated Kyt—the mere delusion. ’Tis the rhythm wherewith he describes you to himself. He writes of you in plays, he calls you so-and-so in this and that. ’Tis all fancy. There is no real you. Indeed, I doubt if you are more than a dream to any man. ”

“ We shall say ’tis healthful, invigorating, and no more; but to-night it is the subtle odor of some sea-forest in a world below, or of flowers in a coral glade. To-morrow the ship will be of wood and iron, whereas to-night—who comprehends this long, slow-moving shadow and those silver, moonlit wings above that bear it forward to some far haven of dreams? To-night we are spellbound; in the morning, if the wind still sleeps, we shall call the spell a calm.” She paused, and, leaning back against the bulwark, still looked up into the mist of shrouds. ”

“ And then, as the gravity of the situation grew more apparent to him: “Forgive me; ’tis ill timed. I fear the good fellow has come to harm.”
But Vytal only laughed a short, easy laugh. “I repeat once more, you know not the man. Throw open the hatch. On guard!”
With only the delay of a second in which to unsheath his sword, Marlowe obeyed; and the dull murmur of voices grew louder as it rose unimpeded to the two above. But no one appeared in the hatchway.
“They lie in wait to entrap us,” opined the poet, and then, with a hand on Vytal’s arm: “Stay, I pray you! It means certain death!” ”

“ For many minutes after he had gone, Marlowe stood looking into the shrouds, but at last, as though their shadows palled on his buoyant spirit, he wandered along the deck, singing to himself a song of genuine good cheer. And soon, to his delight, the notes of a musical instrument, coming from somewhere amidships, half accompanied his tune. Eagerly he sought the player, and came on a scene that pleased him. For there against the bulwark sat a stout vagabond cross-legged on the deck, strumming merrily on a cittern, as though rapidity of movement were the sole desire of his heart. ”

“ Vytal noted the silence. “Your cutlasses! Stand close to me! We are Englishmen.... There!... Good!... Hold fast!... Death is not defeat, surrender is!... We ... win ... dying!”
His words took the place of bullets, his voice of the steel blades which were now but streaks of crimson on the deck.
“Dying!”
But no; suddenly from the near shore, on which a little knot of women stood wringing their hands in grief, a canoe shot out toward the Madre de Dios. It held one man. Then a second craft glided swiftly from the land as though in pursuit, and this, too, was propelled by a single paddle. ”

“ She knew that in her heart the judge’s name was Vytal, and that to him alone she was answering: “It is for our colony—our colony.” Her mind kept repeating this, feverishly, for thus she always spoke of the settlement to herself. That night, long months ago, when she had led Vytal to Ananias, and had fought against her shame in order to reveal her husband’s condition—for had not her duty to the colony demanded instant action?—that night saw the beginning of her sacrifice.
But the word “sacrifice” was not now in her mind. It is rarely those who name a crisis that live up to its demands. ”

“ For an instant the sight of her animal friend brought the old, careless look to Gyll’s face—there was something so drolly suggestive of Roger in the bear’s bandy legs and awkward gait. A fit of devil-may-care recklessness seized her. The strain of even a moment’s seriousness on such a nature being unendurable, breaks in the end, and, as when a supporting rope is severed without warning the one who has been held thereby falls suddenly, so the snapping of a moral stay leaves one sprawling in abandonment. ”

“ The look fired Vytal’s blood. But, following his first silent fury, an expression which had never yet been in his eyes changed them to those of a wounded animal, and he seemed for the moment almost ashamed. The thought had cut him cruelly that his worst enemies on earth were a mere careless stripling and a shallow drunkard, with not even the boy’s bravery to commend him as a foe. There are a few men who regret the lack of noble power in an enemy as deeply as the many deplore its non-existence in a friend. ”

“ Some of the cabins, having fared yet worse, were now but black heaps of charred timber, half covered with long green tendrils, as if the fingers of Nature were striving to drag them back to life. And near the middle of the clearing a large pile of logs, rafters, bricks, and stone blocks showed that a fortress had been razed to the ground.
The three men walked on with few words, until Vytal, standing at the margin of the oval, called Marlowe’s attention to a narrow pathway almost concealed by shrubs and fallen leaves. It led through the dense forest. ”

“ There were soldiers here, armed with pikes and bearing for defence leathern targets on their arms. There were mariners, too, with dirks and pistols.
“We are ready, you see,” observed Roger, with a covert wink. “Ready and eager to defend the ship.”
“Brave men all,” said Vytal, masking his contempt with a look of gratitude. “I thank you. But it is too late. The rank treason is already thwarted, the pilot a captive, to whom justice shall be meted out in no small measure. You have lost the chance to fight, but your desire, believe me, shall not soon be forgotten.” ”

“ On the fourth night after the ships’ arrival, the colonists and Hatteras Indians, all of whom, at Vytal’s command, had come from Croatan, congressed near the fortress of Roanoke. In the centre of the square a camp-fire of great logs and dried branches roared and crackled cheerfully, while encircling the blaze sat red men and white, some half prone in sleep, others upright and talking. Somewhat apart from the main gathering, and just beyond range of the firelight, were Vytal and Manteo, while, midway between them and a number of sleeping soldiers, sat Virginia Dare and her Indian comrade. ”

“ Have a cup o’ wine; ’tis wine belies our fears. I thank thee, good wine—I thank thee for so great a courage. Oh, who said ‘plot’?” and, lurching forward, he pushed a great silver tankard toward Vytal.
“’Tis wine,” returned the soldier, fixing his gaze on the pitiful assistant, as though to force the words home with look as well as voice, “’tis wine brings danger. Another cup now, and mayhap you are fatally undone.” He wished to play upon the other’s cowardice, and turn, if he could, one weakness into strength to withstand another. ”

“ In another moment a man, grasping the end of a long rope in his hand, was clambering, with the aid of his comrades, into the small boat. “Did ye not see,” he said, immediately assisting at one of the oars, “that I grabbed a hawser as I jumped? ’Twas made fast, thank the Lord, somewhere amidships, and here have I been dangling out behind as comfortable as can be—” but his words belied him, for, even with the assertion on his lips, his last remaining strength failed suddenly, and the inimitable Roger Prat fell back senseless.
“To the fly-boat—quick!” said Vytal. ”

“ Each day I feel most miserable when Zenocrate expires. A bear dies—that is but the death of a bear. Zenocrate’s death is a queen’s demise—a scene—a picture—call it what you will—’tis art, and in bear-baiting, I tell you, there is no art.”
“Ay, Marlowe,” observed Rouse, “excellent well said. I cannot find words as thou canst.”
“Art!” exclaimed Frazer, “art! Is that a paint-brush in thy dainty scabbard, Sir Poet?” ”

“ Gyll laughed. “Wise, I doubt not,” said she, “but deceived. Wine is rather the cure for madness—the madness of thirst, suffering, cold, and all that tortures men. I pray you give it to us.”
Seeming reassured by her words, and yet more by her apparent desire to drink the mysterious liquid herself, Towaye grunted a refusal. “It is not for women,” he said, cunningly. “It is for men.”
She bit her lip to refrain from smiling, and drew back beyond the circle of firelight.
Taking Frazer’s poniard in his right hand and still holding the bottle in his left, Towaye hesitated. ”

“ He spoke truth. In the corner lay a man’s bones, the skull, the body’s frame, the limbs, all close together, but separate.
“There are two skulls!” ejaculated Marlowe.
“No; one is but the stone you threw.” Vytal was not mistaken, for the stone had rolled among the white streaks, snapping some and crushing others to a powder that shone like phosphorus in the sunlight.
The two men turned away from the ghastly sight in silence, to survey the room. An old musket stood against the wall, its barrel poked through the narrow chink, peering out at the forest. ”

“ Magil fell back to the rear ranks with a lifeless arm. A Spanish officer of high rank took his place and, with a rallying cry, led his men once more against the battered English wall.
Steel in torment clashed and rang on shields that thwarted its desire. Leaden bullets, like driven sleet, shot from both sides, buried themselves with a monotonous thud in heavy cotton targets. Every man but one had only himself to guard. Save with Vytal, there was no trust but the cause and the individual. ”

“ On the ramparts of the fort a man stood alone, looking out across the water. It was Christopher Marlowe, alert, restless, and impatient.
Below him, in the armory, a small gathering of women and soldiers, under the immediate command of Captain Pomp, sat about in groups, waiting. In one corner, apart from the rest, Eleanor Dare and her father talked in low tones, while Margery Harvie, on a bench beside them, crooned a lullaby to an infant that lay sleeping in her lap. ”

“ Having no desire thus to drown him, Vytal purposely fell back a pace, his innate sense of justice forbidding him to avail himself of the advantage, though he had well earned it, and even though his enemy, in the same position, would have profited thereby with no compunction.
Yet even as he fell back a mocking laugh escaped from Frazer’s lips, and Vytal, no longer generously hesitating, thrust with fatal intent. Quicker still, however, Frazer dived beneath the water, and the soldier now looked out across a circle of shining ripples that widened until they passed him and reached the shore. ”

“ Marlowe was not mistaken, Vytal’s close inspection of the hut’s vicinage being from a widely different motive. Carefully he examined the glade’s border on all sides. To the west he found a wide, natural avenue in the forest that lost itself in the purple distance; to the north, a dense jungle seemingly impassable for man or beast; to the east, a double file of oaks and elms, growing with some regularity on the brow of a low cliff, their trunks surrounded by a tangle of underbrush that rose to the height of several feet and fell away again, to ramble through long grass in all directions. ”

“ The moonlight, ensilvering each listless sail, fell full upon her face, giving the unshed tears an Orient lustre, and the cheeks a pallor of unreality. Under the edge of her hood the moonbeams strove to make their way, but could not, and so the gentle but less timid breeze brought down a strand of her hair to turn it paler and more ethereal, till it, too, was no more than a moon-spun thread. Her little hands were clasped together and her lips just parted, as though she were [63] about to answer some voice that she alone could hear.
“You are a spirit,” said Vytal. ”

“ At this Manteo, who until now had remained immobile as stone, started forward, but Vytal, with a word, restrained him, and, turning to the assistant, spoke in a low voice, so that Eleanor might not hear his accusation. “Master Dare, you insult a benefactor. Manteo is no murderer, but a generous host. Bridle your tongue.” The tone was authoritative and coldly harsh, but the very cowardice of Ananias, paradoxically enough, gave him moments of obstinate courage. Many there are who fight desperately to retreat: fear is bold in its own interests. ”

“ I’ve seen mock heroes, who erstwhile have trailed their pikes and rung their rowels to the tune of Spanish oaths, go white as death at sight of poniard drawn in earnest. But bear-baiting is real. The bear’s a bear, the dog a dog. They know none other rôle than this—to fight to kill, and not for plaudits. Roar, growl, slobber, grasp of shaggy arms, clinch of naked teeth—by all the gods, these things are real! ”

“ Ferdinando, on the other hand, to whom Vytal was now introduced for the first time, so shifted his eyes while talking, much as a general moves an army’s front to conceal the true position, that candor had no part in their expression; while his low forehead and close brows bespoke more cunning than ability. He was, moreover, undoubtedly of Latin blood; therefore, in the judgment of Englishmen, given rather to strategy than open courage. ”

“ The stillness of the town, profound and all-pervading, was broken at rare intervals only by the screech of an owl or the low murmur of voices, while the dreary monotone of the distant surf seemed as it were to accompany the dirge of silence.
Suddenly, however, the sentry’s voice, in a low [288] challenge, caught the quick ear of Virginia, but, as Prat turned apprehensively, she laughed aloud. Then Roger himself shook with merriment. “Body o’ me! he hath challenged King Lud, and, I’ll warrant, is now calling himself a fool. Behold his Majesty!” ”

“ Magil, nursing his wounded arm in the rear, met the emergency with a new tactic. Hoarsely he bade a dozen men to stand upon the bulwark, each with a torch in hand. The manœuvre favored him. The English fell back apace. A line of wavering light blinded their eyes. The firebrands’ dazzling glare rendered their thrusts and parries far wilder and more uncertain than before. Vytal’s face, illuminated vividly by the maddening light, grew doubly tense and desperate. ”