Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch by H. Rider Haggard (reading in the dark .TXT) 📖
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
Book online «Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch by H. Rider Haggard (reading in the dark .TXT) 📖». Author H. Rider Haggard
At the threshold Foy turned to look at Hendrik Brant. He was standing by the table, the light shining full upon his pale face and grizzled head, about which it seemed to cast a halo. Indeed, at that moment, wrapped in his long, dark cloak, his lips moving in prayer, and his arms uplifted to bless them as they went, he might well have been, not a man, but some vision of a saint come back to earth. The door closed and Foy never saw him again, for ere long the Inquisition seized him and a while afterwards he died beneath their cruel hands. One of the charges against him was, that more than twenty years before, he had been seen reading the Bible at Leyden by Black Meg, who appeared and gave the evidence. But they did not discover where his treasure was hidden away. To win an easier death, indeed, he made them a long confession that took them a still longer journey, but of the truth of the matter he knew nothing, and therefore could tell them nothing.
Now this scene, so strange and pathetic, ended at last, the five of them were in the darkness of the street. Here once more Foy and Red Bow clung to each other, and once more the arm of Martin was about the neck of her who seemed to be the serving-maid, while ahead, as though he were paid to show the way, went the pilot. Soon footsteps were heard, for folk were after them. They turned once, they turned twice, they reached the bank of a canal, and Hans, followed by Red Bow and her sister, descended some steps and climbed into a boat which lay there ready. Next came Martin, and, last of all, Foy. As he set foot upon the first step, a figure shot out of the gloom towards him, a knife gleamed in the air and a blow took him between the shoulders that sent him stumbling headlong, for he was balanced upon the edge of the step.
But Martin had heard and seen. He swung round and struck out with the sword Silence. The assassin was far from him, still the tip of the long steel reached the outstretched murderous hand, and from it fell a broken knife, while he who held it sped on with a screech of pain. Martin darted back and seized the knife, then he leapt into the boat and pushed off. At the bottom of it lay Foy, who had fallen straight into the arms of Red Bow, dragging her down with him.
“Are you hurt, master?” asked Martin.
“Not a bit,” replied Foy, “but I am afraid the lady is. She went undermost.”
“Mother’s gifts are good gifts!” muttered Martin as he pulled him and the girl, whose breath had been knocked out of her, up to a seat. “You ought to have an eight-inch hole through you, but that knife broke upon the shirt. Look here,” and he threw the handle of the dagger on to his knees and snatched at the sculls.
Foy examined it in the faint light, and there, still hooked above the guard, was a single severed finger, a long and skinny finger, to which the point of the sword Silence had played surgeon, and on it a gold ring. “This may be useful,” thought Foy, as he slipped handle and finger into the pocket of his cloak.
Then they all took oars and rowed till presently they drew near a wharf.
“Now, daughters, make ready,” said Hans, and the girls stood up. As they touched the wharf Red Bow bent down and kissed Foy.
“The rest were in play, this is in earnest,” she said, “and for luck. Good-night, companion, and think of me sometimes.”
“Good-night, companion,” answered Foy, returning the kiss. Then she leapt ashore. They never met again.
“You know what to do, girls,” said Hans; “do it, and in three days you should be safe in England, where, perhaps, I may meet you, though do not count on that. Whatever happens, keep honest, and remember me till we come together again, here or hereafter, but, most of all, remember your mother and your benefactor Hendrik Brant. Farewell.”
“Farewell, father,” they answered with a sob, and the boat drifted off down the dark canal, leaving the two of them alone upon the wharf. Afterwards Foy discovered that it was the short sister who walked with Martin that was married. Gallant little Red Bow married also, but later. Her husband was a cloth merchant in London, and her grandson became Lord Mayor of that city.
And now, having played their part in it, these two brave girls are out of the story.
SWORD SILENCE RECEIVES THE SECRET
For half an hour or more they glided down the canal unmolested and in silence. Now it ran into a broader waterway along which they slid towards the sea, keeping as much as possible under the shadow of one bank, for although the night was moonless a faint grey light lay upon the surface of the stream. At length Foy became aware that they were bumping against the sides of a long line of barges and river boats laden with timber and other goods. To one of these—it was the fourth—the pilot Hans made fast, tying their row-boat to her stern. Then he climbed to the deck, whispering to them to follow.
As they scrambled on board, two grey figures arose and Foy saw the flash of steel. Then Hans whistled like a plover, and, dropping their swords they came to him and fell into talk. Presently Hans left them, and, returning to Foy and Martin, said:
“Listen: we must lie here a while, for the wind is against us, and it would be too dangerous for us to try to row or pole so big a boat down to the sea and across the bar in the darkness, for most likely we should set her fast upon a shoal. Before dawn it will turn, and, if I read the sky aright, blow hard off land.”
“What have the bargemen to say?” asked Foy.
“Only that for these four days they have been lying here forbidden to move, and that their craft are to be searched to-morrow by a party of soldiers, and the cargo taken out of them piecemeal.”
“So,” said Foy, “well, I hope that by then what they seek will be far away. Now show us this ship.”
Then Hans took them down the hatchway, for the little vessel was decked, being in shape and size not unlike a modern Norfolk herring boat, though somewhat more slightly built. Then having lit a lantern, he showed them the cargo. On the top were bags of salt. Dragging one or two of these aside, Hans uncovered the heads of five barrels, each of them marked with the initial B in white paint.
“That is what men will die for before to-morrow night,” he said.
“The treasure?” asked Foy.
He nodded. “These five, none of the others.” Then still lower down he pointed out other barrels, eight of them, filled with the best gunpowder, and showed them too where the slow matches ran to the little cabin, the cook’s galley, the tiller and the prow, by means of any one of which it could be fired. After this and such inspection of the ropes and sails as the light would allow, they sat in the cabin waiting till the wind should change, while the two watching men unmoored the vessel and made her sails ready for hoisting. An hour passed, and still the breeze blew from the sea, but in uncertain chopping gusts. Then it fell altogether.
“Pray God it comes soon,” said Martin, “for the owner of that finger in your pocket will have laid the hounds on to our slot long ago, and, look! the east grows red.”
The silent, hard-faced Hans leant forward and stared up the darkling water, his hand behind his ear.
“I hear them,” he said presently.
“Who?” asked Foy.
“The Spaniards and the wind—both,” he answered. “Come, up with the mainsail and pole her out to midstream.”
So the three of them took hold of the tackle and ran aft with it, while the rings and booms creaked and rattled as the great canvas climbed the mast. Presently it was set, and after it the jib. Then, assisted by the two watchmen thrusting from another of the boats, they pushed the Swallow from her place in the line out into mid-stream. But all this made noise and took time, and now men appeared upon the bank, calling to know who dared to move the boats without leave. As no one gave them any answer, they fired a shot, and presently a beacon began to burn upon a neighbouring mound.
“Bad business,” said Hans, shrugging his shoulders. “They are warning the Government ship at the harbour mouth. Duck, masters, duck; here comes the wind,” and he sprang to the tiller as the boom swung over and the little vessel began to gather way.
“Yes,” said Martin, “and here with it come the Spaniards.”
Foy looked. Through the grey mist that was growing lighter every moment, for the dawn was breaking, he caught sight of a long boat with her canvas spread which was sweeping round the bend of the stream towards them and not much more than a quarter of a mile away.
“They have had to pole down stream in the dark, and that is why they have been so long in coming,” said Hans over his shoulder.
“Well, they are here now at any rate,” answered Foy, “and plenty of them,” he added, as a shout from a score of throats told them that they were discovered.
But now the Swallow had begun to fly, making the water hiss upon either side of her bows.
“How far is it to the sea?” asked Foy.
“About three miles,” Hans called back from the tiller. “With this wind we should be there in fifteen minutes. Master,” he added presently, “bid your man light the fire in the galley.”
“What for,” asked Foy, “to cook breakfast?”
The pilot shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Yes, if we live to eat it.” But Foy saw that he was glancing at the slow-match by his side, and understood.
Ten minutes passed, and they had swept round the last bend and were in the stretch of open water which ran down to the sea. By now the light was strong, and in it they saw that the signal fire had not been lit in vain. At the mouth of the cutting, just where the bar began, the channel was narrowed in with earth to a width of not more than fifty paces, and on one bank of it stood a fort armed with culverins. Out of the little harbour of this fort a large open boat was being poled, and in it a dozen or fifteen soldiers were hastily arming themselves.
“What now?” cried Martin. “They are going to stop the mouth of the channel.”
The hard-featured Hans set his teeth and made no answer. Only he looked backward at his pursuers and onward at those who barred the way. Presently he called aloud:
“Under hatches, both of you. They are going to fire from the fort,” and he flung himself upon his back, steering with his uplifted arms.
Foy and Martin tumbled down the hatchway, for they could do no good on deck. Only Foy kept one eye above its level.
“Look out!” he said, and ducked.
As he spoke there was a puff of white smoke from the fort, followed by the scream of a shot which passed ahead of them. Then came another puff of smoke, and a hole appeared in their brown sail. After this the fort did not fire again, for the gunners found no time to load their pieces, only some soldiers who were armed with arquebuses began to shoot as the boat swept past within a few yards of them. Heedless of their bullets, Hans the pilot rose to his feet again, for such work as was before him could not be done by a man lying on his back. By now the large open boat from the fort was within two hundred yards of them, and, driven by the gathering gale, the Swallow rushed towards it with the speed of a dart. Foy and Martin crawled from the hatchway and lay down near the steersman under the shelter of the little bulwarks, watching the enemy’s boat, which was in midstream just where the channel was narrowest, and on the hither side of the broken water of the bar.
“See,” said Foy, “they are throwing out anchors fore and aft. Is
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