We were gaining on the Abigail, and nearing the British warship.
We came alongside, and hailed, and somebody tossed us a line which we made fast to the boat. Then some tackle and we sent the chest up, and then a quick scramble and we were aboard, too, and picking up the ship's boat.
Yet scarcely was I aboard when a hail came from the starb'rd side. "Heave to!
We're coming aboard!"
Tilly crossed to me quickly. "It's the Royal Navy. What shall we do?"
"Heave to, instantly, and do our best. We're a Flemish ship with a largely British crew who were almost trapped by the Spanish until the coming of the navy gave us a chance to escape.
"Tell him that. It is all we can do. Keep Watkins and Wa-ga-su below and out of sight. If we have to, we'll bring Wa-ga-su up and be returning him to America as an emissary for Raleigh to the Indians, where he'll land his colony."
"You think quickly," John Tilly said dryly. "I hope it works."
"So do I," I said. "Otherwise it's Newgate for me."
The officer came over the side, a neat, trim-looking man, a fighter by the look of him and one who knew his business. "What ship are you?" he demanded.
Of course, he had seen the name on the hull, but it was a formal question.
"The Abigail, Captain." He was no captain but the unofficial promotion would do us no harm. "A Flemish ship with mostly an English crew. Thank God you came when you did. We'd sailed right into a trap."
"What do you mean?" The officer's eyes were missing nothing, but John Tilly was the typically stalwart British merchant officer, and must have pleased his eye.
"We're from America, seventy-two days at sea, and needing fresh water. We knew Kinsale Harbor, and when we saw Old Head we thought we were safe. We came right on in, and the first thing we knew we were under the guns of a Spanish fleet.
"We went ashore to plead our case, hoping to be allowed to go, and then the attack came and our boat came back to the ship just as you fellows were coming in.
"By the lord, Captain, you were a sight for weak eyes! When we saw that British flag and heard those guns ..." Tilly mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "What can we do for you, Captain?"
"Where are you bound?"
"Falmouth, Captain, to discharge and load supplies for America again. We've an Indian aboard ... one of the savages, you know, but he's a fine chap, and a great help to us. We're taking him back to speak to his colony for Raleigh. He's a good fellow and we've treated him well. We believe he will speak well to his chiefs when we get him back. It will ease the way for us."
"Your name?"
"John Tilly, sailing-master."
"I am Ephraim Dawes, first officer of Her Majesty's ship, the Sprite. Let me see your manifest."
Tilly led him to the cabin while I kept out of sight. It was unlikely that he knew me, but he would certainly know my name, for such a story as the possible discovery of King John's treasure would be bandied about.
Leaning on the rail, watching the water, I suddenly heard a faint rustle close by. Warily, I put a hand to my sword. The sound came from the ship's boat we'd hoisted aboard. I waited, and suddenly glimpsed a white hand on the gunwhale, then a head lifted enough for the eyes to see over and then, quick as an eel, a boy went over the gunwhale, paused, then darted for the shadows.
The last thing I wished was to create a disturbance that would lead to further delay in getting the British officer ashore, so I made no move.
A boy? A small man? Or perhaps a girl?
Hesitating only an instant, the boy ducked down the scuttle and vanished.
Unquestionably, whoever it was had somehow hidden himself carefully aboard the ship's boat ... perhaps with Blue's knowledge, possibly during Blue's momentary absence. Only one such possible hiding place offered itself ... the small compartment forward where the sail was stowed.
John Tilly and Dawes emerged from below. Tilly walked with him to the ladder where several British sailors were gathered.
"You're free to go," Dawes said, "but keep a weather eye out for Spanish vessels. There are a few about."
And then Abby came out on the deck. She looked quickly around, saw me, and started toward me. "Barnabas ... "
Dawes froze. Slowly he turned, staring at me. My clothes had been badly dealt with in the trouble ashore. I'd been somewhat singed, and I was dusted by falling plaster and wet from spray. I looked anything but a ship's officer.
"You, there! What's your name?"
"Cracker's the name, beggin' your pardon." I touched my forelock with diffidence. "Barnabas Crocker."
"This lady called you by your first name?"
"Aye, my family served her'n for nigh a hundred years, though we be from Yorkshire."
I'd worked with Yorkshiremen and was handy with the accent ... at least to a degree.
"Where are you from, Crocker?"
"Filey was my home, an' well I wish I was back there now."
He studied me for a moment, then turned and went down the ladder. When his boat pulled away we stood for a moment, watching.
"Get some sail on her, John," I said quietly, "but not too quick with it until we're a bit further along. Then we'd best make a run for it."
Abby came to me. "Barnabas, I am sorry. I just didn't think."
"There's no harm done." I glanced up at the sails. The wind was strong and they were drawing well. Soon we would be out at sea, and with any kind of a lead the British could not overtake us. Yet I had said we were going to Falmouth and the more I considered it the more I liked the idea.
We had shingles, potash, and furs below, and might get as good a price at Falmouth as elsewhere. And it was an easier place to leave than Bristol. With every hour in these waters I was risking my freedom and the future of our project, but we had already made a goodly sum from our timber venture. What the chest contained we had not yet determined, but it was more than the worth of the timbers we sold.
Yet we still needed supplies, both for the homeward voyage and for our stay in the new land. Food, also. And clothing.
John Tilly came to me. "Falmouth it is," I said. "A quick sail in, we'll dispose of the cargo to the first buyer, then buy our supplies and sail. I want to be in port no more than two days."
"That is very quick," he said, considering.
It had to be. That British officer might get to thinking, and putting one thing with another, might come back for another look. At the moment we were nothing in his plans. With parties of sailors ashore, and a chance of further battle with the Spanish, we were only an incident in his life. It was unlikely he'd give us a thought until the situation at Kinsale was settled. With luck, we'd be in Falmouth, out, and gone by then.
The Abigail slipped quietly into the harbor at Falmouth and dropped her hook.
The gray battlements of Pendennis Castle, now in the process of completion, loomed over the harbor.
Jublain stood beside me, looking shoreward. "It is the Killigrews you must see here," he said, nodding toward the town. "If they are not off a-sailing after Spanish ships themselves, they will welcome you, I think. See the big house there? Close to the shore? That is Arwennack, the Killigrew home.
"Oh, they be a salty lot! They'd take your ship right from under you if you have not an eye upon them, yet they are respecters of boldness and courage.
"Speak to Peter, if you can. He's no longer young, but an able man, and you'll be safer talking to him than any of the others. Moreover, although he's a Queen's man he's damnably independent, and he's not likely to report your presence or hold you for the Queen's officers."
"You know him?"
"Served with him once. He'll remember me, I think."
"Let's be ashore then."
Peter Killigrew received us in a low-beamed room with a huge old fireplace. He took bis pipe from his teeth and placed it on the table.