Chapter 17 - Page 2

deserted ships, and, above all, to
those of them that lay far out, that Lawless directed his
attention; while Dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded
in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding
voices of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in
a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and
concerns in the agreeable recollection of Lord Foxham's promise.

He was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. It was Lawless,
pointing to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within
but a little of the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and
smoothly on the entering swell. A pale gleam of winter sunshine
fell, at that moment, on the vessel's deck, relieving her against a
bank of scowling cloud; and in this momentary glitter Dick could
see a couple of men hauling the skiff alongside.

"There, sir," said Lawless, "mark ye it well! There is the ship
for to-night."

Presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two
men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore.
Lawless turned to a loiterer.

"How call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel.

"They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth," replied the loiterer.
"Her captain, Arblaster by name. He pulleth the bow oar in yon
skiff."

This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly thanking the man, he
moved round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff
was heading. There he took up his position, and as soon as they
were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the Good Hope.

"What! Gossip Arblaster!" he cried. "Why, ye be well met; nay,
gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood! And is that the Good
Hope? Ay, I would know her among ten thousand! - a sweet shear, a
sweet boat! But marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? I have
come into mine estate which doubtless ye remember to have heard on.
I am now rich; I have left to sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for
the most part, upon spiced ale. Come, fellow; thy hand upon 't!
Come, drink with an old shipfellow!"

Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with
a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the
world like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back
in obvious amazement and distrust. But the name of an estate, and
a certain air of tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which
Lawless very well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious
jealousy; his countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open
hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable grasp.

"Nay," he said, "I cannot mind you. But what o' that? I would
drink with any man, gossip, and so would my