His last interview with Sir Robert Cecil had made him aware that the
baronet had really lost the greater part of the influence he once
maintained at Whitehall; and since he had been so much off and on the
English coast, he had heard enough to convince him that Cromwell granted
few favours to those who had not much usefulness to bestow in return.
Sir Robert was broken in intellect and constitution: he had no son to
whom the Protector could look for support in case of broil or
disturbance, and the Buccaneer was ignorant of the strong and friendly
ties that had united the families for so long a series of years. He had
fancied that fear would compel Sir Willmott Burrell to press his suit;
but the atrocious attempt upon his life assured him that there was
nothing to expect from him but the blackest villany. When, therefore, he
despatched, with all the ferocity of a true Buccaneer, the head of
Jeromio as a wedding-present to Sir Willmott, he at the same time
transmitted to the Protector, by a trusty messenger, the Master of
Burrell's own directions touching the destruction of the Jewish Zillah,
and stated that if his Highness would grant him a free pardon, which he
had certain weighty reasons for desiring, he believed it was in his
power to produce the Rabbi's daughter. His communication concluded by
entreating that his Highness would prevent the marriage of the Master of
Burrell, at all events until the following week.
His envoy had particular orders neither to eat, drink, nor sleep, until
he had found means of placing the packet in the hands of the Protector.
Dalton having so far eased his mind, bitterly cursed his folly that he
had not in the first instance, instead of proceeding to St. Vallery in
search of the Jewess, informed Ben Israel of the transaction, who would
at once have obtained his pardon, as the price of his daughter's
restoration and Burrell's punishment.
It will be easily conceived that on the night which Burrell expected to
be the last of the Buccaneer's existence he neither slumbered nor slept.
The earliest break of morning found him on the cliffs at no great
distance from the Gull's Nest Crag, waiting for the signal that had been
agreed upon between Jeromio and himself, as announcing the success of
their plan. There was no speck upon the blue waves between him and the
distant coast of Essex, which, from the point on which he stood, looked
like a dark line upon the waters; neither was there, more ocean-ward, a
single vessel to be seen. He remained upon the cliff for a considerable
time. As the dawn brightened into day, the little skiffs of the
fishermen residing on the Isle of Shepey put off, sometimes in company,
sometimes singly, from their several anchorings. Then a sail divided the
horizon, then another, and another; but still no signal told him that
treachery had prospered. At length the sun had fully risen. He then
resolved upon hastening to the Gull's Nest, with the faint hope that
some message from Jeromio might have been forwarded thither. Time was to
him, upon that eventful morning, of far higher value than gold; yet
above an hour had been spent in fruitless efforts to learn the result of
an attempt on which he knew that much of his future fate depended. He
had not proceeded far upon his course, when he was literally seized upon
by the Reverend Jonas Fleetword, who ever appeared to the troubled and
plotting Sir Willmott in the character of an evil genius.