CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE YELLOW COG CROSSED THE BAR OF GIRONDE.

coatofmineuncle,SirJohnLeightonofShropshire,whotookuntowifethewidowofSirHenryOglanderofNunwell.Thecasehasbeenmuchdebatedbypursuivantsandkings-of-arms.Buthowisitwithyou,mastershipman?” “Illenough,myfairlord.Thecogmustgoaboutanon,andIknownothowwemaykeepthewateroutofher.” “GocallSirOliver!”saidSirNigel,andpresentlytheportlyknightmadehiswayallastraddledowntheslipperydeck. “Bymysoul,master-shipman,thispassesallpatience!”hecriedwrathfully.“Ifthisshipofyoursmustneedsdanceandskiplikeaclownatakermesse,thenIprayyouthatyouwillputmeintooneofthesegaleasses.Ihadbutsatdowntoaflaskofmalvoisieandamortressofbrawn,asismyuseaboutthishour,whentherecomesacherking,andIfindmywineovermylegsandtheflaskinmylap,andthenasIstooptoclipittherecomesanothercursedcherk,andthereisamortressofbrawnstuckfasttothenapeofmyneck.AtthismomentIhavetwopagescoursingafteritfromsidetoside,likehoundsbehindaleveret.Neverdidlivingpiggambolmorelightly.Butyouhavesentforme,SirNigel?” “Iwouldfainhaveyourrede,SirOliver,forMasterHawtaynehathfearsthatwhenweveertheremaycomedangerfromtheholeinourside.” “Thendonotveer,”quothSirOliverhastily.“Andnow,fairsir,Imusthastenbacktoseehowmyrogueshavefaredwiththebrawn.” “Nay,butthiswillscarcesuffice,”criedtheshipman.“Ifwedonotveerwewillbeupontherockswithinthehour.” “Thenveer,”saidSirOliver.“Thereismyredeandnow,SirNigel,Imustcrave——” Atthisinstant,however,astartledshoutrangoutfromtwoseamenupontheforecastle.“Rocks!”theyyelled,stabbingintotheairwiththeirforefingers.“Rocksbeneathourverybows!”Throughthebellyofagreatblackwave,notonehundredpacestothefrontofthem,therethrustforthahugejaggedmassofbrownstone,whichspoutedsprayasthoughitweresomecrouchingmonster,whileadullmenacingboomandroarfilledtheair. “Yare!yare!”screamedGoodwinHawtayne,flinginghimselfuponthelongpolewhichservedasatiller.“Cutthehalliard!Haulherover!Layhertwocoursestothewind!” Overswungthegreatboom,andthecogtrembledandquiveredwithinfivespear-lengthsofthebreakers. “Shecanscarcedrawclear,”criedHawtayne,withhiseyesfromthesailtotheseethinglineoffoam.“MaytheholyJulianstandbyusandthethrice-saintedChristopher!” “Iftherebesuchperil,SirOliver,”quothSirNigel,“itwouldbeveryknightlyandfittingthatweshouldshowourpennons.Iprayyou,Edricson,thatyouwillcommandmyguidon-bearertoputforwardmybanner.” “Andsoundthetrumpets!”criedSirOliver.“Inmanustuas,Domine!IaminthekeepingofJamesofCompostella,towhoseshrineIshallmakepilgrimage,andinwhosehonorIvowthatIwilleatacarpeachyearuponhisfeast-day.MonDieu,butthewavesroar!Howisitwithusnow,master-shipman?” “Wedraw!Wedraw!”criedHawtayne,withhiseyesstillfixeduponthefoamwhichhissedunde