The Black Box: A Tale of Monmouth's RebellionCooke, W. Bourne
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The Black Box: A Tale of Monmouth's Rebellion
Cooke, W. Bourne
Monmouth's Rebellion, 1685 -- Juvenile fiction; Monmouth, James Scott, Duke of, 1649-1685 -- Juvenile fiction
"The night was dark, the sea was smooth as glass, and so, with all
things favouring me, it was not long before I drew near enough to hail
the vessel. Heavens, friend, how I shouted, and how my voice rang out
across the silent waters! At first they took no heed; but at length
there came an answering shout, and then, to my exceeding joy, I knew by
the change of lights that they were heaving to. Then did I speed again
towards the ship and soon came up with her. Yet when at length I drew
alongside, and lanterns made me plain to those aboard, they eyed me with
ill-favour, and had some mind to keep me off. Nor do I wonder at it;
for truly, friend, what with my streaming hair and beard, and garments
made of beast skins, they must have looked upon me as both mad and
dangerous.
"But I was not to be denied, and so, notwithstanding that two years
among the savages had mightily confused my English, I yet made shift to
tell those wondering seamen swiftly of my sorry plight. Still they must
needs fall to muttering among themselves ere they would hoist me to the
deck; but this they did at last, and straightway fed and clothed me.
This very suit of grey was given me by a gentleman aboard that
ship--Heaven’s blessing on him! True, ’tis a trifle large for one so
thin, but ’tis of a fine good cloth, and serves me well. After a voyage
of many months they brought me home, and so--well, here am I; and thus
doth end a story true as holy gospel. Say, friend, what think you of
it?"
"Fine!" I answered warmly. "Why, man, ’twould make a book!"
He gave a cracking laugh and said:
"Nay, no writing books for me, friend; my skill lies not in that
direction; nor, if it did, would I attempt such work. Rather would I
clean forget the horrid business. But alack! I cannot, for ever and
anon it comes upon me suddenly, even as it did just now when you rode
up; and then I see naught, hear naught, save those black-skinned
murderous knaves as they leapt about us on that awful night. Faith!" he
added, rising quickly and passing a hand across his forehead, "let us
talk of something else before the vision comes once more upon me. Say
you that Lyme is but three miles from here?"
"Well, to be quite exact, between that and four."
"And know you much about the place?"
"Just a little, seeing that I have been born and bred there."
"Ah! say you so? Then, truly, you must know many people there?"
"A few."
"Didst ever come across one Gilbert Fane?"
"Well, now," I answered, smiling, "’tis not unusual for one to come
across one’s father, is it?"
At that the fellow gave a little start.
"What!" says he. "Your father! He is alive, then?"
"Aye, truly, that he is," I answered, laughing. "At least, he was an
hour ago."
"Well, well, now, just to think of it!" he murmured, rubbing his chin as
though in deep perplexity. "Save us! ’tis strange, indeed!"
"How so?" I asked. "Dost know my father?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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