preparing. Relieved of much of his work, he had ample leisure to ride
about the co untryside. In the town of Sandgate he discovered, to his
joy, a Spanish prisoner living on parole. He struck a friendly bargain
with this gentleman to teach him Spanish. With him he wrote and read
and talked, promising this exile that as soon as he had made him
proficient, he in his turn would pay the residue of his ransom and use
his influence to get him back to Spain. Many an hour did these two pore
over Spanish maps, and from many a lively description Doctor Syn was
soon familiar with the manners and customs of that country. Fortunately
the Spaniard was well acquainted with the port of San Sebastian, and he
described this place so vividly that Doctor Syn could walk the streets
of it in imagination. This was important to him, for he knew that San
Sebastian was the port of lading for his enemy’s ship. The Spaniard was
also a master of fence, and knew many
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tricks that we new to the Doctor, who was able to pass them on to Tony,
with whom he exercised with swords daily.
At last there came a day when, in the midst of a lesson, the Spaniard
clapped the Doctor on the back and said:
“I have no more need to teach. Your conversation is admirable, and,
hardest of all to accomplish, your accent and pronunciation are as good
as any Spanish gentleman I know.”
“Then I can wind up my business here,” replied the Doctor. “I have
already settled yours for you, and so the sooner we set sail for San
Sebastian, the better we shall both be pleased.”
It was then arranged that they should said together, and Captain
Esnada—for that was the Spaniard’s title—begged of him to stay in his
company at this daughter’s house upon arrival. Liking him well, and
perceiving that he would be of the utmost service to him in Spain, the
Doctor readily consented.
It took him but a day or so to arrange with his Uncle Solomon a
banker’s system by which he could readily draw money abroad, and then,
after handing over his full duties to the worthy curate who it was
arranged should succeed him, Doctor Syn preached his farewell sermon,
took leave of the Cobtrees and the village of Dymchurch, and in the
company with Esnada took coach to London. To be sure, he had first
taken solemn oath to keep Tony informed of his progress, and as a
parting gift bequeathed him his favourite horse, an old and faithful
friend he was loath to lose.
“I will but keep him for you against your return,” Tony had said.
“When you have settled your score, you must return, for you know that my
father will see you back again into the Living.”
But t he Doctor shook his head at that. “I fear,” he had said, “that
my good friend’s hunting days will have passed away before I preach
again in Dymchurch. In fact, ‘tis likely I shall never preach again.”
This was untrue, as afterwards befell, but it was long years before
he was to preach again in Dymchurch.
While waiting for a vessel to convey them to Amsterdam, whence they
could re -ship for Spain, Doctor Syn occupied his time in making
inquiries concerning the fruit-ship owned by Nicholas. He learned that
it had not returned to London Docks since the voyage of seduction. He
was glad of this, knowing that
Nicholas was afraid of him. They were not long in Amsterdam, for they
found a Spanish merchantman ready to sail the very next day after their
arrival, and having no other passengers booked for that voyage, the
captain was glad of their company and money.
Now, since they were bound for a Catholic country, Esnada persuaded
Syn to drop his title of an English parson, and, as England was not
popular, to confine his talk to Spanish. This the young Doctor agreed
to do, and although he still retained his black cloth suit, which was
elegantly cut, he changed his white tabs of office for a lace cravat.
He had never shaved his head to wear the formal wig then in use for
parsons, but wore his own hair long. Also he had buckled on his
father’s sword, so that on the whole he looked more like a sedate young
gentleman of means than a peace-pledged parson. Studious he looked, but
resolute. He handled his sword-hilt with confidence, and his manner
suggested an alert authority. He was quick to make inquiries from the
Captain concerning Nicholas. It happened that the Captain knew him
well, and was much amused in telling Syn how that English rascal had
adopted Spain in honour of a Spanish girl whom he had recently married.
“And he carried himself wonderfully, like a real Senor. He is truly
Spanish in his talk as you and I, and he boats of his blood like the
most
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arrogant grandee. He used to make money taking fruit to England when I
first knew him, but now he contents himself with carrying all sorts of
lading from one Peninsula port to another. His Spanish wife has cured
him of England. ‘Tis more than likely we shall meet with him in San
Sebastia n. You know him, too, perhaps?”
Syn answered that he had the honour, and hoped the meeting would be
forthcoming.
On arrival at the harbour, Doctor Syn looked eagerly for his enemy’s
ship, for there were many of similar rigs at anchorage, but he was to be
disappointed for one of the port officials was able to inform them that
Nicholas had sailed that morning for Lisbon, but would be returning to
San Sebastian with cargo.
The house to which Captain Esnada led him was conveniently placed for
Doctor S yn, for it stood up high above the harbour and commanded a fine
stretch of sea, so that when out upon the balcony, the Doctor was able,
through a powerful telescope, to watch and speculate upon any vessel the
moment it topped the horizon.
Finding in Esnada a man of great discretion, Doctor Syn had confided
in him something of his purpose, so that the Spaniard, who owed much to
the Doctor, was equally anxious to bring the affair to a settling.
“Your Odyssey, as you are pleased to call it,” he said, “will be
finished shortly. When his ship arrives, we will be standing out there
on the harbour wall for his reception.”
“Aye, he must come back, as you say,” replied Syn; “and yet I have
the strongest presentiment that he will somehow give us the slip. N o
doubt my grim desire to track him round the world from place to place,
never letting him settle her or there, has persuaded my instincts to
this conclusion. I may be forced to kill him here, and at once, for I
fear that my patience would be uncontrolled at first sight of him. Well,
we shall soon know.”
It was one midday, when Doctor Syn was drinking sherry with Esnada
and his daughter in their cool upper room, that his eyes strayed back
again to the horizon which he always watched. Through the open arches
that led to the balcony and showed such a magnificent sea-scape, he had
seen a sail appear. Up she came, a fine and full-rigged ship. In three
strides he was at the telescope and swinging it round to bear upon the
ship. The unspoken sentence that had struck in the throat on Dymchurch
Wall now passed his lips aloud:
“It is the ship.”
In a second Esnada was beside him. His daughter, on the other hand,
went on reading a broadsheet containing local news, sipping her sherry
at the same time. Curious she may have been, and was, if truth were
known. But her father, with that tactful courtesy for which the best of
his country had ever been famed, had strictly enjoined her never to